


I've been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night (now I'm wide awake)

by cromarty



Category: Schitt's Creek, While You Were Sleeping (1995)
Genre: Christmas, Coma, Head Injury, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cromarty/pseuds/cromarty
Summary: “You’re family?” the older EMT asks. Patrick nods, involuntarily. It’s the adrenaline, maybe, or just the fantasy world he’s built himself to get through the nights, but it just falls out of his mouth. “I’m going to marry her.”Or, AWhile You Were SleepingAU: The Roses haven’t lost their money, and Patrick is the night doorman for their building after deciding to start over in Toronto.





	I've been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night (now I'm wide awake)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [another_Hero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_Hero/pseuds/another_Hero) in the [SCFrozenOver](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver) collection. 

> **Prompt:**  
  
While You Were Sleeping AU! Patrick has admired Alexis from afar; a mistake leads him to bond with her unbelievable family and fall for her brother. But everyone thinks he's engaged to Alexis
> 
> \----
> 
> Content warnings for head injury and coma, at the same level of the film’s use (very Hollywood and non-graphic, and also… not realistic).  
If you haven’t seen this movie you will not enjoy this fic as much, but you can read it without knowing the story. 
> 
> Also, as Dan explicitly mentioned again [just recently](https://www.glaad.org/blog/video-schitt%E2%80%99s-creeks-dan-levy-tells-coming-out-story-and-sends-message-empowerment-lgbtq-youth), Patrick is gay, but since he’s only just figuring that out for himself in this story, he muses that he might be bisexual. I’m not changing the character. Later on he’ll figure out he’s not bi, he just has to get there. Alexis, though, is bi.
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift’s “[Daylight](https://open.spotify.com/track/1fzAuUVbzlhZ1lJAx9PtY6?si=9oHH3ANOSmuS_5gmb7n3hQ).” (Thanks, Reed.)  
Beta by Em and Kat, who deserve unbelievable thanks for reading the longest thing I've ever written. Thanks also to Karin, for months-long enthusiasm that helped keep me writing.

In December of last year, Patrick had a three-bedroom house, a boring but lucrative job that made use of his college degree, and a ring in his pocket that he thought he might feel more excited than anxious about giving to his girlfriend. In June of this year, he left his things and his fiancée and his parents back in Pine Ridge and drove to Toronto. He moved into the spare bedroom of a man he met on an entrepreneurs website and sold his car to pay six months of rent up front. He took a job as a night doorman at a ritzy condo building because he needed the money and just to do something different. He didn’t come back home for Thanksgiving, telling his parents he still needed time to “settle in,” though what settling could really be done with a suitcase, two boxes, and a guitar case, he wasn’t sure. He befriended his roommate/landlord over shared breakfasts and dinners. He worked 11pm to 7:30am and slept all day. He learned the city only through the deliveries he signed for at the doorman’s desk and the bits of conversation he overheard from the residents. He lived in a holding pattern, in the not very quiet, not very dark Toronto night, and he started to plan his new life.

He spends the hours of the night when the lobby is empty writing in a notebook his mom gave him when he left for “a record of your adventure.” It’s something he can do to while away the quiet hours when the security guard watches international soccer games that his manager decided doesn’t look as “disrespectful” as reading a book. He needs to figure out what he wants, now, since he apparently had no idea before it was too late not to hurt anyone last time. He can’t do much about the fact that he didn’t realize he didn’t want a house in Pine Ridge and a wife and a job that used his degree but not really his brain until he had to put down a wedding venue deposit, but he can try to think through what he does want. He sketches things out in the notebook, in lists and paragraphs and a line or two that might be a song, and he starts to notice two residents in particular. He was struck by their photographs when he was learning the pictures and preferences in the book of residents he was required to memorize. Mr. Rose, David, 28C, and Miss Rose, Alexis, 26C. The exact same apartment, two floors apart. They tend to come in when the lobby is quiet after partying late into the night, and he finds them completely captivating. Miss Rose is flirtatious and bubbly and seems sweet. She gets lots of designer clothes deliveries, even in the middle of the night, from places he’s never heard of. Mr. Rose is strikingly handsome and seems funny, if a little high drama. Patrick tries to keep his face neutral as he marks their return in his logbook each time, but his favorite part of each night becomes the Rose Siblings show, and they soon start appearing in his notebook.

He uses it to make plans for this fantasy life in which he makes an engagement work this time around, and Miss Rose flashes her brilliant smile at him all the time, and he looks as put together and effortlessly cool as Mr. Rose. Maybe he and Mr. Rose are friends, better friends than he and Rachel’s sister ever were, and Patrick makes Mr. Rose laugh. He hasn’t seen Mr. Rose laugh much, but he thinks he’d like to. After a few weeks, he starts planning about how to be better prepared when they come in from whatever exclusive clubs they go to. Water bottles, maybe. Much later in the notebook, after a handful of nervous nights, there’s just a note that says “naloxone?” But at first, it’s just his thoughts and feelings about what he might want his life to look like and mentions of the Roses swanning past him at 4:30am. 

Miss Rose frequently comes home with an entourage. Even when it’s six girls who are dressed nearly identically, with the same hair styles and small dresses and tall heels, Miss Rose stands out. Once or twice she’s caught him looking and sent a flirty smile his way, and it sends a thrill through him every time. If he were less of a professional he might try to engineer a way for them to talk. One whole page of his notebook becomes a list of talking points in case he ever gets the opportunity. Under “things we have in common,” he can only think of “we both like spring rolls” and “we both sleep during the day,” but he’s sure more will come to mind as they get to know each other better. 

Mr. Rose almost never comes home with a group, but he does bring guests, people he’s obviously about to have sex with as soon as they get upstairs. Those people tend to come back past Patrick alone later in the night, and almost never appear more than twice. It makes Patrick a little sad, but he tries to remind himself that just because he’s had a conventional upbringing making him into a one-woman man, that’s not the only way to be happy. Mr. Rose doesn’t actually seem that happy, but that’s not really Patrick’s business, even though he’d kind of like it to be. He could be a pretty good wingman for Mr. Rose, maybe, if they could find a place where someone would be interested in hearing that he’s polite to staff and tips well, seems to really care about his sister although they fight nearly every time they’re together in the lobby, and once Patrick overheard him on the phone trying to console his mom through what sounded like some kind of botched haircut. Probably Mr. Rose wouldn’t really need Patrick’s help, though, given that he looks like _that_ and brings plenty of people of all descriptions home. Patrick would help, though, if Mr. Rose asked.

***

When Patrick gets back from a bathroom break one night, the first thing he sees is that Ignacio, the security guard he works with most nights, is tense, almost hovering above his chair. He’s watching Miss Rose, who’s alternately flirting and speaking quietly to a man Patrick’s seen a few times, standing in the middle of the lobby. As Patrick gets back to the desk, he sees what is bothering Ignacio: the man’s hand is clutched high and hard around Miss Rose’s upper arm. Patrick stays standing behind the desk, watching Miss Rose and Ignacio out of the corner of his eye. Another tense minute goes by, and suddenly Mr. Rose is pushing through the lobby door. As soon as he sees them, he strides up, looking thunderous, and doesn’t stop as he gets close, stepping between his sister and the man, forcing him to take a step back and loosen his hold on her arm. Ignacio stands as Mr. Rose says “What. Are you. Doing?” about an inch from the man’s face.

“I’m having a conversation with the lady, do you have a problem?” the man asks, annoyed, but not very intimidated, since he has a good half a foot on Mr. Rose. Patrick and Ignacio share a glance and then step out from the desk at the same time. Mr. Rose leans even closer and says something Patrick can’t hear, low and quiet in the man’s ear. The man, surprisingly, blanches and immediately drops Miss Rose’s arm.

“You’re fucked up,” he says, sounding more nervous than angry. “Both you and your sister are really, really fucked up!” and then before any of them can move, he’s heading for the door. Patrick and Ignacio stay standing, to watch him leave. Miss Rose smacks her brother’s arm, and the sound shocks Patrick into looking at them again.

“Godddd, David! What did you say to him?! Uuuurrrrggghhhh! You’re _so annoying_!” she cries. At Mr. Rose’s absolutely unrepentant face, she lets out another frustrated groan and stomps off towards the elevators. Patrick goes back around the desk to call one for her, but he watches Mr. Rose follow her slowly with a new level of respect.

***

Mr. Rose and his guest have been pressed up against the wall of the lobby across from the desk for a solid 12 minutes, not that Patrick is counting. When they arrived, laughing and handsy, Patrick had entered “Rose 28C +1” into the log and called the elevator, but they had apparently gotten distracted, and now he is not exactly watching but also unable to miss Mr. Rose’s hands on this new man’s butt, slowly sliding his flowy, wide-legged pants up the backs of his legs. The elevator door is just standing open, ready and waiting to take them up to 28, but apparently the stretch of wall between the two glossy palms across from the doorman desk is the only place they want to be. They shift positions and Mr. Rose lets out an audible moan. Patrick exchanges a glance with Ignacio, but he just rolls his eyes and looks back at the security camera screens, particularly the one he has rigged to show a soccer game instead of the feed for elevator 8. 

The lobby doors open again and Patrick smiles as he enters “Rose 26C” into the log. She only gets a few steps in before she sees Mr. Rose and calls out, “Ew, David, get a room! Don’t make the poor cute door guys watch your hookup!” 

Mr. Rose and his guest break apart and he says, “Hey, Alexis? Maybe choke on a—” but then his companion laughs again and pulls him towards the elevator, and Patrick, relieved, pushes the button to close the doors behind them.

“I am sooooo sorry about my gross brother,” Miss Rose says, coming over to lean across the counter of the doorman desk. Patrick smiles up at her, delighted to finally actually get to talk to her, but his eye is caught by the security screens. Mr. Rose and his companion have not waited for the privacy of Mr. Rose’s apartment, and are very possibly actually having sex in the elevator. Patrick feels his cheeks flame and tries to keep his eyes focused on Miss Rose, who has continued to talk without really waiting for an answer.

“He’s just so sad, the way he’ll basically sleep with pretty much anybody that’s nice to him? You’re probably not like that, right? You’ve like, got a wife and kids or something?” She wrinkles her nose inquisitively. There is definitely some relatively vigorous thrusting happening on the screen in the corner of his eye. 

Patrick holds up his empty left hand. “No, Miss Rose. No wife, no kids, nobody.”

Miss Rose grabs it, pulling it towards her to inspect it. “Sorry my hands are so soft, it’s just that I might be doing an endorsement for a new sea snail hand cream. So, really soft.”

“They are,” Patrick says, flustered. She’s stroking his hand, weirdly, kind of in the same rhythm of what’s happening on screen. He pulls his hand back, overwhelmed. He’s never timed their elevators, but he had assumed they were fast. This doesn’t feel fast. He might be sweating, with Miss Rose’s megawatt smile focused on him.

“You know,” she peers down at the nametag on his uniform jacket, “Brewer, you seem like you’re probably a nice guy. I never really thought I would like a nice guy, but it turns out they are, like, nice to you? Which is weird, but also kind of sweet. Don’t tell anyone, but I think I should maybe be with a nice guy, for once.” Patrick clears his throat, still trying to smile up at her. This is the best chance he’s had to talk to her, and she’s telling him he seems nice and she wants to meet someone nice? If only he wasn’t so distracted by—but then, miraculously, finally, the elevator doors open on 28. He holds the button down to keep the doors open as they sort themselves out and finally get off… or, uh, leave the elevator, and then looks back up at Miss Rose. What had she just been saying? But he’s already managed to lose her interest, and she’s turning away.  
“Um, Miss Rose?” She looks back over her shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Oh, um, have a nice night, miss,” Patrick says. She flashes a smile but has clearly already dismissed him. He likes Mr. Rose, thinks he seems cool and very sure of who he is, and he’s definitely protective of his sister, but Patrick is out of sorts the rest of the night, blaming Mr. Rose for distracting him so badly in his one chance to get Miss Rose to talk to him. 

Patrick doesn’t have much of a chance to embroider his fantasy life with the Roses or make plans for converting their acquaintance into the relationships he’s hoping for after this experience with Miss Rose, because in the next week, he is kept very busy accepting deliveries as several residents prepare for elaborate, expensive Christmas parties. Deliveries tend to drop off after midnight, though, and then it’s quiet again. Oddly, Mr. Rose seems to be having early nights most nights, stalking through the lobby without so much as a glance in Patrick’s direction around 12:30. One night, a few days before Christmas, he comes into the lobby and paces, finishing a phone call before getting into the elevator. Patrick can’t hear everything (not that he’s listening, that would be unprofessional), but Mr. Rose seems very upset. He finally raises his voice and says, in as forceful a tone as Patrick has ever heard him use, “If you _ever_ touch my sister again, or even _breathe_ in her _direction_, I will personally have you incarcerated in the deepest, darkest hole in the _worst_ non-extradition country!” and then hangs up and shakes out his arms forcefully, blowing out a breath. 

Patrick chances it. “Are you alright, sir?” Mr. Rose whips around towards the desk. 

“I’m fine,” he spits, and then heads for the elevator. Ignacio, as he always does when any guest is in any way weird, impolite, or loud, turns to look at Patrick and shrugs.

Around 2am, the parties in the building are in full swing and more guests are streaming in from the closing bars. Every single one of them complains loudly about being asked for ID, and several of them stand around in the lobby, laughing, shouting, and engaging in truly involved public displays of affection. Patrick and Ignacio are the busiest they’ve been since Patrick started, until about 4am, at which point everyone who is arriving seems to have arrived and no one has left yet. There are still some drunken lobby shenanigans happening that he has to keep an eye on, but Patrick is mostly able to relax, at least until the elevator doors open and Miss Rose, barefoot and in a glittery minidress, steps out and walks directly over to the desk. 

“Can I help you, Miss Rose?” Patrick asks, hoping the answer is yes and he’ll actually get a chance to impress her, or at least not make a fool of himself this time.

“Yes… you... can!” she says, punctuating each word with a tap of her finger on the counter.  
“When I got back to my apartment from a party, there was a girl in there, and like, she’s _so_ cute, for sure, but also I didn’t let her into my apartment, and now she won’t leave. So, if someone could help me with that?”

Ignacio stands. “Will you come back up to the apartment with me, Miss?” he asks.

“Oh, do I have to? It’s just, I have kind of a bad history with her, and I’d rather not be there to, like, _activate_ her? Just so it’s easier for you to do your thing, if that’s okay.” She looks worried. Ignacio nods politely, and she lights up in response.

“Awesome. So, so great.” She squeezes Ignacio’s arm. “Her name is Pixsie. That is _so_ sweet of you.” She waves him off with a flap of her hands and turns to Patrick. She makes an exaggerated frown at him, and he smiles, trying not to actually laugh at her elastic face. “She’s, um, she’s actually not, like, so terrible, really, but we just have been through a lot? If that makes sense?”

“Oh, sure, Miss Rose,” Patrick says, looking up at her and trying to make his face as open and sympathetic as he can.

“Like, okay, and don’t tell anyone this because I have told _literally_ no one, even my own brother. Especially David, actually, because he gets so crazy, like he thinks it’s his job to worry about me, as if I can’t take care of myself. Anyway. When Pixsie and I were twelve, we were modeling, like, pretty frequently, in lots of fun places, and when we were in Hong Kong there was this _very_ hot British businessman who took us out a lot, to all the good places? And one time when we were out with him we got a _tiny_ bit high and went out to get tattoos.”  
Patrick tries to keep his shock off his face, but he can’t believe this story is true, and if it is, it’s one of the saddest and most horrifying things he’s heard. She’s just telling it so casually, though, aside from the tinge of regret that seems to be centered more around the breakdown of her relationship with this Pixsie woman than what seems to him to be a story about child endangerment.

“Did you get one?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light.

She sighs. “Yes, I did, and I wish I wasn’t _twelve years old_, because I thought it would be cool to get it like… right above my butt, and it says, and you are not going to believe this…”  
No matter what she is about to say next, Patrick is very sure he is not going to believe it.  
“I thought Paris Hilton was actually kind of cool, because I was _twelve_ and it was 2000, so I got ‘that’s hot’ in Cantonese, and _to this day_ I am too embarrassed to tell people, but Pixsie knows, and she’s always threatening to mention it when she’s annoyed with me for like, not wanting to do a party drug I haven’t tried.” 

“Wow,” Patrick manages. Miss Rose nods, her blue eyes as wide as they will go.

“I _know_.” She suddenly seems to realize where she is and who she’s talking to. “Ugh, sorry, I should let you get back to your little desk duties. I have to go back to the party on 36 before your cute little friend brings Pixsie down here. But thanks, anyway, for listening. You have a really nice listening face.” 

Before Patrick can gather himself to respond, she’s wriggled a little wave at him and turned back to the elevators. He calls the elevator for 36 for her and thinks, if he can offer her nothing else, at least he knows she thinks he has a “nice listening face.”

***

Patrick doesn’t even protest working Christmas Eve and Christmas Day like they are a normal Friday and Saturday. His mother is upset when he calls her to tell her he can’t come home for another holiday, but he points out that someone has to work Christmas, and is it better if it’s Marcus, the usual night cover guy, who has two little kids? 

“I’ll come home soon, Mom, and we can do all the Christmas stuff you want,” he lies. Patrick would rather not come home any time soon. He doesn’t know what it is that makes Pine Ridge feel so suffocating. Rachel probably won’t even be there, since her sister had a baby in September. His new life may not be so great, but he’s not ready to go back to his old one yet, even for a visit. And anyway, something exciting could happen here any day now.

Patrick has his chin on his hand and he’s gazing into the middle distance, thinking about whether he can get a song out of the little bits of things he’s written about Miss Rose in his notebook, so he sees it happen through the lobby doors. A black SUV rolls up, the back door opens while the car is still moving, and a body, a woman, is unceremoniously shoved out. He feels his mouth drop open in shock as the car speeds away and her body flops, like a rag doll, down to the pavement. 

“Ignacio, call 9-1-1!” he shouts, as he vaults over the desk. It’s not until Patrick’s out in the street, carefully stabilizing her spine and checking her airways automatically, his high school lifeguard training kicking in, that he even recognizes it’s Miss Rose. She’s breathing normally, but as he brushes her hair back from her face, his hand comes away red. “Oh, shit. Oh, hold on, Miss Rose. Hold on, uh, Alexis, they’ll be here soon.” 

He doesn’t want to move her, but they’re in the street, and any minute a car could come around the corner and not see them in time. Gently, he bundles her into his arms and lifts her, and as soon as he does a cab makes the turn and comes flying straight at them, exactly as Patrick feared. He jumps up onto the curb and nearly falls, uneven with the slight weight of her body. He takes a breath and slowly crouches to lay her back down, then thinks better of it and shrugs his jacket off one arm at a time so that he can lay her on it and she doesn’t have to touch the dirt tracked by thousands of feet past their front door. Once he’s done that, he can hear the ambulance sirens, and he breathes a little easier. 

The EMTs ask questions he can’t answer about what she might have taken and whether she was conscious before she hit her head. When they have her on the stretcher, Patrick realizes they’re going to take her away and leave him standing there with her blood on his jacket and no way to find out if she’s going to be okay. “Please,” he starts, “I—” 

“You’re family?” the older EMT asks. Patrick nods, involuntarily. It’s the adrenaline, maybe, or just the fantasy world he’s built himself to get through the nights, but it just falls out of his mouth. “I’m going to marry her.”

The EMT pats a jump seat. “You can hold her hand, fiancé. How are you? In shock? Do you need a juice box?” Patrick shakes his head as the doors shut, and just concentrates on holding Alexis’s hand. For some reason, all he can think about as they race to the hospital is that someone is going to have to call her parents, and Mr. Rose, and that Mr. Rose, David, will be so upset he wasn’t there to protect her.

***

In the hospital, he’s left in the waiting room, pacing, wishing he had contact information for any of Alexis’s family. He gave the nurses’ station her name and address, so he assumes they’ll be able to find them, but he hates that all he can do is stand there and wait. The blood on his jacket, still clenched in his fist, has dried tacky, so he asks for a place to get cleaned up. He trashes the jacket in a biohazard bag, hoping the Roses will vouch for him if the management company tries to make him pay for the new one, and scrubs down his hands and forearms, leaving his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He leaves the washroom and is thinking about going in search of coffee when the elevator doors ding open in front of him and Mr. Rose, David, strides past him up to the nurses’ station. 

“You have my sister. They wouldn’t tell me what happened on the phone. Is she okay?” David is trying to sound stern and commanding, but he mostly just sounds scared. The elevators open again and Mrs. Rose, wailing, and Mr. Rose, guiding her, appear, making it impossible for anyone in the vicinity to hear anything, and no one has answered David. He’s turning back and forth between the nurse and his mother, and Patrick can see his breathing speed up. He’s never really seen David without his usual aloof composure, and it breaks his heart a little. 

“Excuse me! Mrs. Rose, please, I know you’re upset, but I brought Alexis in, and she was breathing normally and doing okay. They’re just doing some tests.” His interruption seems to have shocked all three of the Roses into silence, so he turns to Debbie, the nurse who’s been on duty since he got there, and smiles shakily at her. “Debbie, do you have any word on Alexis Rose?”

Debbie smiles at him and pats his hand gently. “I’ll go check for you, honey. Why don’t you take everyone into the family waiting room.”  
At the obvious promise of news if they behave themselves, the Roses allow Patrick to herd them into the waiting room, but as soon as the glass doors close behind them, David rounds on him.  
“Okay, no, sorry, but what the fuck is happening here? All I got was a call that asked if I was her emergency contact and that I should come here, with no details about what happened or how she is. Was it an overdose? What’s wrong with my sister, and who the fuck do you think you are?!”

Patrick opens his mouth to explain, but Debbie has poked her head into the waiting room behind him. “Excuse me? Patrick saved her life, young man! And you should be nicer to your future brother-in-law, he’s had a difficult night too.” Patrick flushes and stammers, but she doesn’t give him a chance to contradict her. “I checked on Alexis. She’s stable, but she’s being moved to the ward. The doctor will be by in a little bit to give you more details.” Patrick looks at her helplessly, but she’s fixing David with a quelling look, so she doesn’t even notice the colossal misunderstanding she’s caused. Suddenly Mr. Rose is wrapping him in his arms and squeezing, and Patrick’s arms come up reflexively to pat his back.

“I’m sorry, son, we didn’t know about you, but Alexis has always been… her suitors are a little difficult to keep track of, for us.” He releases Patrick and discreetly wipes his eyes.

“It’s alright, Mr. Rose, I’m really not—” but Mr. Rose is back, shaking his hand firmly.

“It’s about time we’re properly introduced. I’m Johnny Rose, my wife Moira, my son David.” As he gestures to each of them Patrick realizes that David is still glaring at him suspiciously.

“It’s nice to finally meet you all formally. I’m Patrick, Patrick Brewer, but I’m not anybody, I’m just—”

“Oh, no, young man, apparently you are our hero!” Mrs. Rose declaims. “Please, dear, regale us, if you would, with your valorous deeds.”

“Oh, Mrs. Rose, really, it wasn’t—Debbie just heard it from the EMTs, because I came with Alexis in the ambulance. I just—”

David, apparently, has had enough of his stammering. “What, exactly, happened? We’d like to know, any time today, if you don’t mind,” he says, acidly.

Patrick clenches his jaw. “I don’t know what happened earlier in the night, but she was dumped out of a moving car in front of The Elms. She hit her head on the curb before I could get to her. I had to pull her out of the street so we didn’t get run over. Ignacio called 9-1-1.” At their blank looks, he clarifies. “Ignacio is your security guard.” 

“Oh, Peter,” Mrs. Rose begins, rapturously, clasping her hands together in front of her.

“Patrick!” David interjects, still angry.

“Oh yes, I believe that’s what I said, dear. Patrick the hero, a fitting groom for our young Alexis.”

“Mom!” David protests again. “Do you really think Alexis would—” he stops, pausing to study Patrick more closely. “Oh, god, you do look familiar. Are you the ‘nice guy’ she’s been talking about? I thought you did something weird, like… animals?” He wrinkles his brow.

Patrick can’t resist the opening David’s left him. “I don’t ‘do animals,’ David, that’s illegal. Just because I’m from a small town…”

“Okay, wow, gross, and also that’s _obviously_ not what I meant, I can’t even believe—” Patrick is smirking at David working up a head of steam, but the doors open again and a doctor says “Alexis Rose?” and nothing is funny anymore.

They all crowd him, and Patrick lets David get closer. He doesn’t like being in this misunderstanding, but he’s thought just as much about being friends with David as he’s thought about being with Alexis, and he feels like he has to be a comforting presence next to him for whatever they are about to hear. 

“Alexis is stable, but she is in a coma,” the doctor starts, and Mrs. Rose wails “a coma! On _Christmas_!” while Mr. Rose tries to ask if the doctor is a specialist. The doctor, unfazed, keeps talking. “Her vital signs are strong, and her brain waves are good.” 

“Brain waves!” Mrs. Rose shouts. David hisses “Mom! He’s trying to tell us—” and Mr. Rose is still asking about a specialist, so it’s up to Patrick again. 

He steps forward and says “Thank you, doctor. When can they see her?” and all the Roses suddenly realize that that actually is the question they want the answer to, and quiet down again. 

“She is stable, so you can see her now, but only for half an hour, and you have to be quiet and calm, or the nurses will kick you off the ward.” He gets a page, or pretends to, and excuses himself. 

They all go in together, and Patrick stands back, letting Mrs. Rose performatively dab at her eyes and pat Alexis’s hand, and Mr. Rose lean down to kiss her hair. When they’ve done that, David shoves him forward, and Patrick realizes this is the moment he has to commit or come clean. He glances nervously at Mr. and Mrs. Rose. Mrs. Rose has her face hidden in her husband’s neck and may actually be crying now. Mr. Rose is rubbing her back and holding her close to him, and his eyes definitely aren’t dry. Wouldn’t it be cruel to tell them he’s just some guy, now? To abandon Alexis the way her “friends” abandoned her in the street? She’d just been telling him, that night David was… entertaining, that she wanted to meet a nice guy like Patrick. What if it is Patrick? He glances behind him at David and catches his unguarded expression of sadness as he stares down at Alexis’s limp hand on the bedspread. Patrick’s heart clenches. He moves forward and leans down to kiss her forehead. 

“You’ll be alright, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “We’re here, and we love you.” When he stands to let David get closer, David is blinking hard at him. 

“She can’t hear you,” he whispers, as if she’s just asleep next to them.

“I read something once that said she can, actually, but even if she can’t, David, it makes me feel better to believe she can, and she knows how much love there is for her in this room,” Patrick whispers back. David grimaces, but he reaches down to brush her hair back, and doesn’t shrug Patrick off when he reaches out to place a hand between David’s shoulder blades to reassure him. 

After a minute or so, Mrs. Rose starts to sing, something sweet and low, and Patrick steps out, followed closely by David. Patrick stops by the ward’s nurses’ station to start learning their names. They are probably going to be here a lot over the next few days, and it’s clear to him from his own interactions with the Roses that someone is going to have to be appreciative and kind to the nurses because it’s not going to be any of them. From Natalie he manages to learn where to find the good coffee, when visiting hours are over, and how often they can visit Alexis under her current doctor’s orders. 

When he thanks her, he turns around to find that David is still standing behind him, watching him. They blink at each other for a minute, and then Patrick asks, “Do you want to help me find the good coffee?” David glances back at Alexis’s room, seeming torn, so Patrick lets him off the hook. “How about I go down and get coffee for everyone, and you stay here so you can show your parents this floor’s family waiting room?” He points behind David at a more comfortable lounge than the one downstairs. 

David nods, and then says, “Can you see if they can make my order? It’s a caramel macchiato with skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa…” he trails off, suddenly seeming embarrassed. “Actually, black is fine. But my mom likes cream, no sugar, and my dad likes sugar, no cream.” 

Patrick smiles at him. “Okay, David. I’ll see what I can do.”

***

When he gets back upstairs everyone seems in slightly better spirits. He makes his deliveries, receiving a “thank you, Pat” from Mrs. Rose, and a “thank you, son” from Mr. Rose. When he gets to David, he waits until David’s about to take a sip to say, “They surprisingly did have cocoa powder, so I hope I got it right.”  
David’s face goes from haughty to surprised to suspicious, but when he tastes the coffee, he relaxes a bit. “It’s perfect, thank you,” he says quietly. 

David has apparently explained to his parents that Patrick learned that they can go back in for another half an hour later, so they are stuck killing time until then. Mrs. Rose tells a long story about one of the early seasons of her soap opera, during which David makes faces and mouths along. She’s about to start on another when Mr. Rose turns to Patrick. 

“So, Patrick, since we haven’t heard the story from Alexis or David, tell us, how did you two meet?”

“Dad!” David protests. “How am I supposed to have told you if I don’t know? And anyway, when would I have told you? You’ve been in the Maldives for a month!” 

“Oh, David, must you be so shrill? Pat is going to tell us. We would all like to listen to a nice boy-meets-girl story.” Patrick tries not to wince, but David must catch his expression.

“He doesn’t like being called ‘Pat.’ And anyway, how do you know it’s a nice story?” 

Conveniently, Patrick _doesn’t_ like being called ‘Pat,’ so David’s intervention will probably be helpful, even though he did misinterpret Patrick’s expression. 

“Of course it’s nice, why shouldn’t it be nice, David? I’ll bet it was love at first sight, wasn’t it, Pat...rick, I have a sense about these things. She has always been a creature of such vivacity, and how could anyone see those aqua eyes and not fall instantly, madly in love?”

“Moira,” Mr. Rose says fondly, “let _him_ tell it.” David is chewing his lips to keep from smiling and rolls his eyes at Patrick.

“He is telling it, John. What was it about our beautiful daughter that first struck you?” 

Patrick tears his eyes away from the dimple fighting to form in David’s cheek. “Oh, it was her smile. She does this sweet thing where she sort of wrinkles her nose when she thinks something is funny? It might be a weird thing to say, but she has a cute nose.”

“It’s not hers,” David says flatly. “It cost $6000, so I guess it’s nice someone’s appreciating it.”

“Oh, David, jealousy does not become you. Unlike your own fetching nose, which I believe set your father back a similar tidy sum….” David scowls at his mother, but she just smiles beatifically at him and then turns back to Patrick. “So how did it happen, then, dear?”

“Oh, um, I was at work….” Patrick frantically thinks back to what David had said. He thought he worked with animals? That could be anything. Better not risk specifics. “I was at work, and she came in and smiled at me… and I knew my life didn’t have to be the same. I knew I had the chance to be different.”

***

Eventually, after providing more entertainment for Mrs. Rose by giving increasingly cagey answers to her escalatingly invasive questions about his past, it’s time for the last half hour visit they get for the night. It’s not too different from the first visit. Mrs. Rose sings again. David stays as far away from the bed as possible, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Patrick repeats his forehead kiss and says, “Goodnight, Alexis, the people who love you will be here when you wake up.” 

Mr. Rose squeezes Patrick’s shoulder hard and then leans down to kiss her hair again and say, “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Rose call a car, presumably to head back to a Bridle Path mansion, leaving David and Patrick to stand awkwardly on the street. 

“Can I drop you somewhere?” David asks, texting his own driver. 

“Are you going back to The Elms? I need to pick up some stuff.” Patrick looks down at himself, disheveled and in half a uniform. The right knee of his pants is torn, which he’s somehow managed to not notice in the past three hours.

“Oh. Yeah, I can drop you there. Actually, maybe I can get Sebastien to switch venues.” He goes back to texting and Patrick tries not to obviously tense. He hates Sebastien Raine more than any other person who has ever come through his lobby. He seems, from what Patrick has seen these past few months, on elevator cameras and in pharmacy deliveries, to treat David worse than he treats the staff, and that’s saying something. David doesn’t see what Sebastien is like, who he calls and how he talks to them, immediately after leaving David’s apartment, but Patrick does, and he’d like to keep Sebastien as far away from David as possible, now that he knows him a little more.

They ride in silence back to The Elms, and Patrick forgets Sebastien in his worries of how he’s going to get past the desk without blowing his cover. He lucks out unbelievably because the guy covering his shift is brand new and doesn’t recognize him, giving them a polite nod as they stride past. Maybe he hasn’t memorized the book yet and doesn’t recognize David either, and is just relying on Ignacio to tell him if they don’t belong. As they step into the elevator he glances at the camera in the corner and feels himself flush. Maybe the new guy _has_ memorized the book and assumes he’s one of David’s _guests_. They ride in silence up to 26, and Patrick steps out. “Goodnight, or, good morning, I guess,” he says, watching David through the closing doors. David just nods, still focused on his phone.

As soon as the elevator doors shut he presses the down button. When he gets back to the lobby, Patrick walks straight over to the new guy and says, “If you don’t have the book memorized yet, you should be doing that in every spare moment. I’m taking the week off, family emergency, so I assume you’ll be covering nights all week?”

“Are you the guy who saved that girl? Ignacio said you were like a superhero!” New Guy says, excitedly. 

Patrick frowns. “The safety of our residents should be your number one priority, New Guy. You shouldn’t sound so excited that one of them is in the hospital in a coma.” New Guy wilts at Patrick’s stern tone. Patrick barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes and goes around the desk to collect his things and thank Ignacio for calling 9-1-1. 

Even though it feels like it’s been a week since his shift started, it’s only 5:30am when Patrick checks his phone. He doesn’t want to head home early and disturb Ray, so he walks a bit, thinking about the Roses. He’s picturing David’s closed-off discomfort in their second visit when he realizes there is somewhere he needs to be. 

Natalie smiles at him when he stops by the nurses’ station to hand her a maple pie from his favorite all-night diner. “Do you think I can see her?” he asks, trying to look sweet and lovesick. 

“Oh, I’m not sure, sweetheart…” she starts, but when he scrubs a hand over his face she relents. “Can’t sleep without her?” she assumes, kindly. 

He just smiles bashfully and lets her think so. “Thanks, Natalie, I’ll be quick.”

Alexis still looks like a literal sleeping beauty, laid out serenely in the hospital bed. It’s sort of eerie, actually, considering her usual lively, flirtatious personality. He sits and then just starts talking.

“I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here in the middle of the night, instead of sitting behind the desk waiting for you to come home. Actually, you probably haven’t ever wondered about me at all, but your family thinks we’re engaged, so I thought I should at least introduce myself. I’m Patrick. Patrick Christopher Brewer. I grew up in a small town called Pine Ridge. I left six months ago….” He pauses, massaging the balls of his hands with his thumbs the way he’s always done when he’s nervous. 

“I guess what I really came here to say is I didn’t mean for this to happen. Your family just looked so upset, and I didn’t have the heart… I wish you were awake so you could clear up this mess. I mean, not that I’m blaming you, sorry. It's just that, you know, when I was a kid, and I imagined what I would be like or where I would be... or what I would have when I got older… It was the normal stuff. You know, I’d have a house and family and things like that. Not—Not that I’m complaining or anything. I think I’d rather be here alone than in Pine Ridge feeling like I can’t breathe, but that’s part of why….” He shakes his head and tries to make more sense.

“Have you ever seen somebody and known that if only that person really knew you... they would, well, of course, dump the perfect male model that they were with... and realize that you were the one that they wanted. Wanted to just grow old with? Have you ever fallen in love with somebody you haven’t even talked to?” He laughs at himself and shakes his head again.  
“Have you ever been so alone you spend the night confusing a woman in a coma? Sorry. I’ll go, maybe. Just, thanks for listening, I guess, even though you don’t really have a choice.”  
He reaches out to take her hand. “Maybe we should talk about something else. How do you feel about baseball?” He grabs his book out of his backpack and flips it open.

“They’re on the train still, right now. ‘Gosh, the size of the forest. He thought they had left it for good yesterday and here it still was. As he watched the trees flowed together and so did the hills and clouds. He felt a kind of sadness, because he had lost the feeling of a particular place. Yesterday he had come from somewhere, a place he knew was there, but today it had thinned away in space—how vast he could not have guessed—and he felt like he would never see it again.’”

As Patrick reads, he doesn’t notice a woman with long dark hair slip out of the doorway behind him and leave the ward. 

***

Someone is squeezing his shoulder, and Patrick groans awake to find Mr. Rose looking down at him with a teary smile. “Have you been here with her all night, Patrick?” he asks.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to, I must have fallen asleep.” He sits up and his book falls to the floor.

“Well, son, you should go home and get some rest. But before you go, leave me your home address. Moira and I want to do a small, family Christmas this year, since we skipped the usual party, and, well.” He pauses, watching Alexis breathe, then shakes himself and continues. “You should come, Patrick.” 

“Oh, Mr. Rose, that’s very kind, but—”

“You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas, son. If you’re not going to be with your own family, you should be with us.”

Patrick flushes and opens his mouth to protest again, but Mr. Rose winks at him. “If you say no, I’ll just get Moira to talk you into it, so it’s probably easier to say yes now.”

Patrick smiles and concedes. “I’d like to, Mr. Rose, thank you.” He scribbles his phone number and Ray’s address down and gives it to Mr. Rose, then takes his leave.

As he’s standing waiting for the elevator, an orderly jogs up. “Mr. Brewer? You’re Alexis Rose’s fiancé, right?”

“Well….” Patrick hedges, but the orderly is in too much of a hurry to wait. He hands Patrick a box.

“Your fiancée’s personal effects. Thanks!” He jogs back in the other direction, and Patrick is stuck standing there, looking into a box with a minidress, one shoe, and a purse. 

***

Over their usual shared breakfast, made slightly more festive by the addition of cinnamon maple syrup, in deference to the day, Patrick spills the whole story to Ray, who seems genuinely unfazed by the particulars, although excited by the prospect of a piece of gossip.

“You don’t think it’s bad? They think I’m their future son-in-law! And Mrs. Rose is dramatic, but I think she’s actually kind of fragile under all of it. What if I tell them the truth and she has some kind of meltdown? Not only would I definitely be out of a job, but the Roses would probably sue me or something, and on top of that I will have hurt them _again_, after they already have a daughter in the hospital on Christmas!”

Ray nods thoughtfully. “So, you should go along with it, the way you have been so far. And then when Miss Rose comes out of the coma, they’ll be so happy, they won’t care that you lied to them! They’ll probably thank you for sparing their feelings in this delicate time.”

Patrick finally entertains the thought he’d been resolutely ignoring all night. “Oh god, though, Ray, what if she doesn’t come out of the coma? I mean, they said she probably would, but what if it’s worse than they thought?”

Ray shrugs. “Well, then, who’s to know?”

“_I’d_ know! I have to tell them, I can’t have them think I have the right to grieve her if something actually happens. It’s bad enough David seems to think I should go first when we visit. I’m just the doorman!” He pushes his plate away, too upset for Ray’s cheerful smiley face pancakes.

“Patrick, my friend, I haven’t known you long, but I know you are not ‘just a doorman.’ This family is lucky to have you there to help. You saved her life! They won’t be upset when she wakes up.” Ray pats his arm encouragingly. “But, just in case, maybe you shouldn’t tell them until she does.”

Patrick groans and gets up from the table. “I have to call my parents and then I’m going to sleep for a few hours. I promised to come to _Christmas_ with the Roses, like an idiot, so I have to get my game face on for that.”

Ray slides Patrick’s pancakes over to his side of the table and starts cutting them up for himself. “When you go, you should take some business cards. Organizing the closets in a Bridle Path mansion could really launch the business!”

***

Patrick gets a phone call in the evening from a woman who introduces herself only as “from Mr. Rose’s office” and gives him the details of when the car will pick him up. He stands in front of his closet for a long time, thinking of all of the things he’s seen David wear and Mr. Rose’s well-tailored suits. He finally grabs a dark blue (“dark _sapphire_,” according to the tag) cashmere sweater he’d gotten as a gift, and some charcoal trousers. It might straddle the line between nice enough for a rich person dinner and casual enough for a small family holiday gathering. If it’s completely wrong, it will just give the Roses something other than their worry over Alexis to focus on, so it’s probably fine. When the car arrives, he opens the door only to find the backseat already occupied by a dark-haired woman around his age.

“Patrick Brewer, I presume?” she says, sounding bored, but with a shrewd gleam in her eye.

“That’s me.” 

He slides in, and she says, “Step on it, please, George, let’s get this over with so you can go home.” The driver smiles at her and pulls away, raising the partition between them.

“So,” the woman says, “do you know who _I_ am, Patrick Brewer?” Her attention is suddenly entirely on him.

“Um, are you the woman I spoke to on the phone?” Patrick tries, keeping his voice light and polite.

“I am. I’m Stevie, I’m Mr. Rose’s assistant, and David’s best friend and also, though we usually choose to forget this part but I’m sure Alexis will have mentioned it, former fuck buddy.” She’s still fixing him with a look, watching his reaction. He hopes he has none, but he knows he has an expressive face, and he can feel a tightness in his jaw. He sticks out a hand.

“Hello, Stevie, it’s nice to finally meet you, I’m Patrick.”

She takes his hand and squeezes harder than can be considered “firm,” then drops it and goes back to her phone. “I’m sure it is nice to finally meet me. I’m a delight.” 

He smirks at her deadpan. She types a few things into her phone and then speaks again.  
“The Roses, Patrick, may seem like crazy, out of touch rich people, but underneath it all, they are good people. I started at a Rose Video in high school.” Patrick feels his face color, but she’s watching the city go by out her window. “Once Mr. Rose hired me, he took me seriously, more seriously than anyone else ever has. And after a while, they took me in, all of them, as part of their family. Are you close with your family?” She looks back at him, and when he hesitates, wondering whether he can get away with “it’s complicated” as an answer, she lets him off the hook and continues. “I didn’t have a family, when I started with Mr. Rose, but I have a family now, and I would never let anyone hurt them.”

Patrick hears the ferocity in her voice, under her casual posture, and wonders what it is about the Roses that made Stevie want to deserve knowing them as badly as he does.

“I would never let anyone hurt them either,” he assures her, thinking of Alexis’s “friends” and David’s “dates,” and exactly what he might be doing to hurt this family at this very moment.

Stevie looks hard at him again, but seems to be satisfied by his reassurance. “I believe you wouldn’t,” she says, as they pull up to the enormous front doors of the Rose mansion.

Dinner, in the smaller, less formal second dining room, is delicious, and David and Stevie spend much of it smirking and rolling their eyes at each other over Mrs. Rose’s stories. Patrick gets a bit of mileage out of revealing that he also worked at a Rose Video in high school, though only with Mr. Rose. The rest of the time Stevie spends winding David up, and she generously brings Patrick in on some of the teasing. David, of course, objects, but seems to find Patrick amusing in spite of himself, and Patrick gets to see a lot more of that twisted up almost smile, and the dimple he suspects would be in David’s cheek if David forgot to guard his face. 

The wine, especially, is excellent, and Patrick feels warm and light and happy as they retire to a library with a Christmas tree and a fireplace you could probably park Patrick’s old car in. Mr. Rose serves scotch and David and Stevie poke at their phones and each other on a leather couch, while Mrs. Rose regales Patrick with yet another story about her glory days. He makes the mistake of allowing his gaze to linger on the beautiful Steinway taking up the corner opposite the tree and then is quite forcefully encouraged to play some carols, which turns immediately into accompanying Mrs. Rose through a long medley of seasonal favorites. 

As she milks the final bars of “O Holy Night,” David puts his phone down, claps his hands together, and says, “Enough torturing Patrick. He’ll be legally bound to play for you forever soon, Mom. Are we opening presents?” 

Mrs. Rose, reassured by the reminder she’ll soon have an accompanist-in-law and just as excited for presents as David, agrees to turn the focus to the tree. Patrick watches from the piano bench, noodling his way through an arrangement of “[The Christmas Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/1tneo30oVXTWTaoFD3ZPzB?si=YW9J2L0XTcel3zg-eIud1A)” he might be remembering from an old Dave Brubeck record. As they each open their fifth or sixth present, he wanders over to the bar cart in the doorway to refresh his scotch.

“To _Patrick_,” he hears Stevie sing-song, her voice raised to carry across the room, “from _Santa_.” She drops the giftbag into David’s arms and then shoves him, pretty firmly for such a small woman, across the room towards Patrick. 

“Oh, you really didn’t have to,” Patrick says, blushing, as David reaches him.

“We didn’t, _Santa_ did!” Stevie calls.

“They didn’t, Stevie did, probably minutes before she picked you up,” David says, meeting him at the bar cart and handing the tasteful cream and gold bag over with zero ceremony. Patrick takes it, but before he can put his drink back down to open it, Stevie calls out again.

“Oh, look, how unexpected!” Patrick looks up to see her pointing above them to the mistletoe hung in a tasteful garland climbing the doorframe. David puts his hands on his hips, indignant, but Mr. and Mrs. Rose are already joining in.

“Oh, how serendipitous! Kiss him, David!”

“Go ahead, son.”

“Don’t be such a diffident cygnet, David, it’s Christmas!”

“It’s tradition, son!”

“Come on, idiots!” Stevie shouts. Patrick can’t take his eyes off the rising blush up David’s neck. He’s kissed some women under mistletoe, but almost all of them had been both ancient and related to him. He’s never kissed a man, and never really thought he wanted to, but he can feel his answering blush as he watches David cave under the pressure. David meets Patrick’s eyes briefly and whispers, “You really don’t have to, if you’re uncomfortable,” and now Patrick is watching David’s mobile mouth, and he’s maybe a little drunker than he thought, standing there with scotch in one hand and a bag in the other, because he’s suddenly so much warmer, and what will David’s stubble feel like, if he kisses Patrick? David’s hand brushes Patrick’s face, sliding around to cup his head and lighting the nerves of his ear on fire, and David is ducking his head, and his smooth rings are on the skin of Patrick’s neck, and Patrick gasps in anticipation, and then the corner of David’s lips is against the corner of Patrick’s and David’s stubble is scratchy but Patrick can feel the scrape of it thrilling through his whole body and settling, squirmily, behind his belly button, and then suddenly David is stepping back. 

“Merry Christmas, Patrick,” he whispers, looking at his shoes, and then retreats to the tree to rummage under it for another present, leaving Patrick standing at the bar cart trying to figure out what exactly just happened to him. 

He doesn’t get much time to process, because suddenly Stevie is there.

“It’s a scarf,” she says. “I took a chance and guessed forest green plaid, you know, for the festive aspect, and how much David hates plaid that is not part of a Pringle of Scotland collab.”

Patrick clears his throat and then takes a swig of his scotch. “Thanks, Stevie, I’m sure it’s great.”

She herds him back over towards the tree and he politely thanks Mr. and Mrs. Rose for the lovely scarf, ignoring David’s eye roll. He both needs to completely ignore David to be able to talk to his parents and feels like his whole body is aware of exactly where David is in the room. He feels a little bit like he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider, and is very glad when Mrs. Rose starts making obviously suggestive remarks about needing to “turn in early” and tugging Mr. Rose towards the door while David gags loudly. Stevie takes her leave as well, telling him David can show him to a bedroom when he’s ready. Patrick feels his whole body blush, and hopes she can’t see it in the light of the fire, but he has a feeling Stevie sees everything all the time. He flees back to the piano as she says goodnight to David and gathers up some of her presents.

Patrick is playing a slow and melancholy rendition of “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” when David sits back down on the sofa near him and says, “You’re the first boyfriend of Alexis’s who has actually stayed for a whole family meal.”

Patrick tries to cover the hitch in his playing with a little flourish. He’s forgotten about Alexis, poor Alexis, in all of this. Her family had made him so welcome and comfortable, and he had forgotten all about her, lying in a hospital bed alone. 

“It was a really nice meal. Thank you, for being so welcoming,” he says, shifting into “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” unconsciously. David stands and comes to lean on the edge of the piano, watching his hands.

“When did you learn, did you take lessons?” he asks.

“I never learned formally, I was too involved in baseball and hockey as a kid to have time for piano lessons, but my neighbors had a piano and I was over there all the time, so I just started mimicking the woman who played. It’s something that’s always been fun and easy for me, music, even when almost nothing else was.”

“Drawing was always like that for me. Literally nothing was easy or fun for me as a kid, but I drew on everything all the time.” David grimaces a bit. “I don’t do it as much anymore, I’m too busy with the galleries.”

“That’s what you do? Galleries?” Patrick feels like he can get away with this question, because would Alexis really have told him about David’s job?

“Yeah, I have one here and one in New York. They aren’t just visual art though, there are installations and performance art, too. In New York last month we had Janet Kempfluugen.” At Patrick’s obvious lack of recognition, he sighs. “She's a Brooklyn-based performance artist. She's a big deal. Anyway, she would walk into the space wearing a clay mask of a fawn, remove her clothing and breastfeed members of the audience. It was a commentary on income inequality.”

Patrick can feel that his face is not behaving. “Did… that sounds… cool?” he tries, and David actually laughs aloud at his mix of confusion and discomfort.

“Yeah, it’s not really supposed to be art for people with… conventional tastes?” David’s clearly telling him he is extremely uncool, but not in the way Patrick expected. His expression is still warm and sort of forgiving, like Patrick is definitely uncool but that is not necessarily a bad thing. Patrick smiles up at him and feels himself slip, unconsciously again, into “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” David is smiling down at him as well, mouth twisted up as usual, and Patrick is thinking about the zing of David’s stubble again, which is confusing for several reasons, and really not something he should be thinking about. He ducks his head to look back at the keys and clears his throat.

“Uh, any requests? I can play most things if I’ve heard it.” He glances back up, but David is looking away.

“Actually, we should probably…. It’s late. I can show you a guest room, if you’re ready.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, of course. I didn’t mean to keep you.” Patrick closes the piano cover and watches David down the rest of Patrick’s scotch, still sitting on the piano lid, as well as his own. “Efficient clean up method. Your staff must really appreciate it,” Patrick teases. 

David finally looks back at him and rolls his eyes again. “Come on, you belong in the Blue Room.”

They climb the stairs side by side, and Patrick’s whole body is aware of David again, and how close their arms are to brushing. He feels ridiculous. He thinks about spider senses tingling again and almost laughs to himself, but he doesn’t want to break the hushed quiet of the dark and sleeping house. David takes him down a long hallway and then stops at a door that’s slightly ajar. 

“This is you,” he says quietly. “The staff should have put anything you’ll need in there. And there’s an en suite bathroom.”

“Thanks, David.” Patrick is distracted again, watching David chew his bottom lip. He stands in the doorway for a little bit too long.

“Patrick,” David starts, and Patrick looks back up at his warm dark eyes. They seem to get stuck again.

“David?” Patrick says. He’s not sure what it is he wants David to do or say, but he definitely wants something.

“Just… welcome to the family.” David slips past him back down the hallway.

As Patrick gets ready for bed, he thinks about David. He doesn’t remember ever feeling this way in his whole life after talking to someone, even in the early, confusing, exciting days of dating Rachel in high school, or the few times he tried dating other women when they were on breaks. He was always nervous, but this is more… he thinks the word “tingle” again and does laugh, this time. He feels wild and drunk and ridiculous. The only times he can remember this feeling was after championship baseball games, sweaty and tired and being lifted into a hug and swung around like a child by his pitcher. That sort of happy, floaty, excited, crazy feeling has been building in him all night, even through dinner. He wishes, as he closes his eyes, that he and David had met under different circumstances, so that he could talk to him late into the night and feel so completely in on the joke, the way he did tonight, without the specter of the terrible accident that forced them into this new friendship. _Please, universe or God or someone, let Alexis wake up soon,_ he thinks.

***

After Stevie drops him at Ray’s the next morning, Patrick doesn’t really know what to do. He could go back to the hospital, but to do what? Read more? And there’s a risk he’ll run into the Roses, and he could use a break from them for a bit. He paces around his room a bit. Normally he’d be sleeping by now, but his schedule is all thrown off from the normal-ish night of sleep he had. He’s just decided to go out for a run in the brisk cold when he notices the box of Alexis’s things, still sitting on the dresser where he left it yesterday. Taking it back to The Elms will kill some of the day, and if her keys aren’t in it, he can just flash his ID to the day man. He opens the purse and does find a key and her phone, which has lots of notifications on the screen. The one at the top says “10 AM FEED POUTINE” and then, helpfully, about 7 cat face emojis. Patrick checks his watch to see it’s well after 10. Grimacing, he heads for the door, hoping the cat is at The Elms and okay with not having been fed in 48 hours. 

After a long bus ride and a bewildering stop at a pet store (who knew there were so many choices in cat food?), he introduces himself to the day guy and lets him know he’ll be here feeding the cat most days. The day guy writes him in the log as “26C guest (tenant approved)” which makes him feel sort of weird about the whole thing. As he steps off the elevator he runs into David, stepping off the opposite elevator coming down from 28. Patrick’s heart skips a beat, seeing him, but David’s eyes narrow instantly. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a home to go to?” David says, for some reason back to his initial distrust. Patrick thought they had been getting friendlier, even if the weird new feelings he was having were one-sided. David’s crossed his arms and is all but tapping his mesh sneaker on the carpet waiting for Patrick’s answer. 

Patrick lifts the kibble out of the box and holds it up. “Can’t let the cat starve, Alexis will kill me.”

David watches him unlock the door and follows him in pretty hot on Patrick’s heels. “Alexis would _never_ have a _cat_,” he says, like the thought disturbs him. Patrick sets the box down on the counter to deal with later. He mentally crosses his fingers and crouches, clicking his tongue and opening the food bag. Poutine, the angel, trots right over and presents herself for chin scritches. Patrick scoops her up and holds her like a baby, giving equal attention to her cheeks and chin. David’s face is a picture of disgust, and Patrick wishes he had a hand free. He’d set that face as his lock screen in a heartbeat. 

“Do you want to pet her, David? Her name is Poutine.” 

If possible, David’s disgust gets even more extreme. “You gave my sister a _cat_ and you named it after one of the best foods on Earth?!”

“How do you know I named her, David?”

“Alexis would name a pet, like, India or Duchess, or maybe Lana Del Rey, not after _food_,” David says, stepping back as Patrick sways closer, and Patrick laughs. He releases Poutine to her meal. 

“I’m sorry you don’t like cats, David. I love them. My mom is allergic, but my neighbors had two, Carol and Therese, growing up, and I would go over and visit them all the time.” He plugs Alexis’s phone into the charger on the kitchen island and shakes out the dress to hang it up. David, giving Poutine a wide berth, follows him around watching him. “You kind of remind me of a cat, actually,” Patrick adds.

David makes an indignant noise, but Patrick’s filling a glass at the sink to water the plants, so he puts a hand up by his ear. “What was that, David? I didn’t quite catch it, maybe you should say it again?”

David rolls his eyes. “I know we don’t know each other, like _at all_, but I am _nothing_ like a _cat_.”

Patrick chuckles. “No? Aloof, mysterious, can be prickly, finicky about personal grooming, quick to lash out?” he teases, but David looks like he doesn’t think it’s at all funny, so Patrick changes the subject. “Do you have other favorite foods? Besides poutine?”

David opens his mouth to answer, but Patrick’s phone starts to buzz in his pocket. “It’s the hospital,” he says, checking the caller ID. David waves frantically for him to answer it.

“Patrick Brewer. Yes… yes, of course, we’ll be there in a bit. Thank you.” As he hangs up, so he doesn’t have to make David wait, he says “No change, she’s fine, or at least as fine as she was last night. They were just calling to say it’s customary for family and friends to come in and donate blood. Do you want to? I actually am not a big fan of needles, but I think I can tough it out for Alexis.”

David had dropped his eyes to the cat as soon as Patrick had confirmed there was no news. “I guess, yeah, if you want to share a car. I think my parents were planning to go by around lunchtime, too.” All the fight seems to have gone out of him, so Patrick just locks the door behind him and gives him his space, as much as he can, in the back seat of the town car.

***

At the hospital, after giving blood, David is back to snippy and suspicious, and Patrick just cannot figure out what changed between last night and today. David strides ahead of him as Patrick stops at the desk to say hi to the day staff. When he catches up, David is pacing back and forth in Alexis’s room as his mother and father discuss whether Mrs. Rose should record herself singing so the nurses can play it through the night for Alexis. 

“Maybe Patrick knows her favorite song!” Mr. Rose says, turning to him. He thinks fast.

“It’s, uh, Beyoncé,” he says, trying to sound like he knows what he’s talking about.

“Which of the Kardashians is Alexis’s favorite?” David demands.

“Um, none of them?” Patrick guesses.

David looks briefly thwarted. “Well, nobody likes them,” he concedes. “What about her favorite Hanson brother?” 

This one Patrick knows from another snippet of lobby conversation. “All of them, she just couldn’t choose,” he states confidently.

“Favorite designer?” David demands again.

“Wang,” Patrick guesses, thinking of the delivery bags Ignacio had chuckled over.

“Alexander or Vera?” David says, like he’s caught him in a trick.

“What’s going on, David, why all these impertinent queries?” Mrs. Rose asks.

“Don’t ask me, ask his fiancée!” David snaps, crossing his arms.

“That’s _not _funny, son,” Mr. Rose says sternly, smoothing the blanket over Alexis’s legs.

“Not Alexis, Rachel Feldman!” David cries triumphantly. He deflates a bit as Patrick laughs.

“Rachel? When did you talk to Rachel?” He’s almost impressed she somehow tracked him down. His parents have Ray’s address, but not The Elms, and there’s no way….

“I went to your place this morning to give you your scarf back, you left it at the house, and she was there looking for you.”

“_You_ went to Ray’s? I kind of wish I had gotten to see that.” David purses his lips and crosses his arms more extremely.

“I _did_ go there, I go places that are slummy all the time, Patrick, I work in _art_. But the point is, this Rachel woman was there and she said you’re engaged to _her._”

Patrick looks around at the Roses. David is annoyed, but so protective of Alexis, and Mr. and Mrs. Rose just look worried. He opens his arms to them to look more trustworthy.

“I _was_ engaged to Rachel, but I broke it off six months ago, before I moved to Toronto. We had been on and off since high school, and she must have come looking for me to try to get back together again, but that’s not what I want. I want what I have here.” 

David still looks suspicious. Mr. Rose is looking nervously at Mrs. Rose. Mrs. Rose is looking sadly at Alexis.

“You _are_ my daughter’s fiancé? So, if David asked you to prove it, you would know something about her—”

“Something we could check!” David interrupts.

“Something that no one else would know?” Mr. Rose finishes. 

They are all looking at him. _This is it_, Patrick thinks, _this is the moment I break all their hearts._ But then suddenly, he remembers. It was only a few days ago, but this week has already been so long.

“Alexis has a tattoo,” he says. 

David scoffs. “_Everyone _knows that, she has a matching couple’s tattoo of red lips she got to remember her ‘friendship’ with Taylor Swift on her hip.”

“Um, no, not that one, she has one she doesn’t like to tell people about. It’s on her lower back. It says ‘that’s hot’ in Cantonese.” David looks shocked, then delighted, then suspicious again. He pushes past his dad and pulls down the blanket, but then stops short when he realizes he’ll have to touch her. He looks so horrified, suddenly, looking down at her limp body, that Patrick forgives him instantly for trying to expose Patrick, and goes over to help. He steps close to the bed and gently rolls her up onto her side, and then parts her hospital gown so that David can see the tattoo. He sees David nod sharply in his peripheral vision, so he closes the gown and lowers her back to the bed, then reaches to fix the blanket.

“He’s telling the truth,” David says, low and rough, from behind him, voice full of tears. Patrick turns, but David is out in the hallway speed-walking away before he can get a look at his face. 

“I’m sorry we doubted you, son, but David…” Mr. Rose starts.

“David’s had his trust broken by many unsavory acquaintances,” Mrs. Rose finishes. “As has Alexis. I’m glad she’s found you now, dear.” She reaches across the bed to pat his hand, and then stands, taking her husband by the arm. “We should all go home and get some rest, Patrick dear, it’s already been a long day.”

Patrick can’t help but feel like he’s failed, even though he managed to pass David’s test. 

For a while, Patrick just sits there, looking at Alexis and worrying. He’s come way too far now in this lie to get out of it intact, but he basically was at that point about an hour in. The only thing that’s changed is that he likes the Roses more, and would be breaking his own heart now if he had to break theirs. Especially David, who had accepted him so quickly for someone who has been so cruelly used in the past. 

He has his head in his hands, running scenarios through his mind that all end in the outcome of David and the Roses hating him forever, when someone clears their throat behind him. 

“I wasn’t really expecting to see you twice today,” Stevie says when he looks up. 

“Oh, hi, yeah, it’s been….” he doesn’t even know how to describe a day that started with early morning wondering about things he thought he always knew about himself and ended up here, with a cat and a phlebotomist along the way. 

“Listen, Patrick, there’s something you should know.” Stevie sits down in the other chair. “The night of the accident, when you came back to talk to Alexis, I was here, outside the door.”

Patrick feels the blood run out of his face. “Oh, god, Stevie, I didn’t mean—I’m going to tell them, it just didn’t feel like the right time—”

“Don’t tell them anything,” she says, firmly. “Remember yesterday when you told me you wouldn’t do anything to hurt them? Telling them you were lying now would hurt them.”

Patrick sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. “That’s what I’ve been thinking from the moment this whole misunderstanding started. But something has to change eventually, Alexis will wake up and they’ll find out, and then I’ll just be another person who lied to them and they’ll never forgive me. Especially David, right? David will never—” he cuts himself off. David will never what? Be his friend? Be… something else? He pictures David’s relaxed, warm, amused face from last night and aches a bit about how comprehensively ruined this whole thing has been from basically the moment Alexis was dumped out of the car. 

“I’ll take care of David,” Stevie says. “I’ll figure out a way to tell them. It’s my job, to solve problems for this family.” She crosses her arms and slouches further into the chair. “I’m not sure how, yet, but I am sure that you and I are holding this family together right now, so you just have to keep playing along.” She looks over and catches him rubbing at his old baseball calluses as usual. “You should go home, take a break from being Patrick the perfect fiancé for a while. I’ll take a shift here. Someone has to keep her updated on what Kendall Jenner is doing.” She reaches down into her shoulder bag and holds up a gossip magazine. 

Patrick smiles. “Thanks, Stevie. When this all goes horribly wrong, I hope you’ll still talk to me, at least. You were right, you are delightful.” 

She snorts derisively and waves him out the door with the magazine. Everything is still a mess, and after last night, maybe even more of a mess than before, but Patrick’s glad to have at least one ally in all of this.

***

On Monday, just as Patrick is thinking about getting a run in before dinner with Ray, he gets a text from Stevie that just says “special delivery” and then a package emoji and a painter’s palette emoji. He opens the front door to find Stevie and David leaning against a black SUV, looking as out of place on Ray’s quiet residential street as possible. They look like an ad for high end perfume, or maybe watches, David in asymmetrical, geometric black and white, with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face, and Stevie in a suit, her dark hair cascading down to cover most of her face as she looks down at her phone.  
“What are you guys doing here?” Patrick asks from the porch, sort of wishing he could get away with taking a picture.

David uncrosses his arms and then recrosses them. When Stevie doesn’t answer, he rolls his eyes and says, “It’s an engagement gift.”

“Oh!” Patrick says, surprised and a bit touched, even though he’d really rather not get in any deeper on the whole engagement thing. “Thank you!” He comes down the steps and holds out his hand to David to shake.

David just looks at it. “It’s not from me, it’s from my parents. I’m just delivering it because they bought it from my gallery.” At Stevie’s continued silence, he shrugs a bit and adds, “And because Stevie made me.”

At her name, Stevie looks up. “Yeah, it’s a painting or something, do you want David to help you carry it inside?”

Patrick tries not to laugh at the idea of David carrying anything larger than a cup of coffee. “Um, I don’t think it should really… I’m just renting a room here. We should take it to The Elms, it will look better in Alexis’s apartment.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” David points out, unimpressed.

“Well,” Patrick says, turning back to Ray’s little house. “Probably anything would be better in Alexis’s apartment.”

“Fine with me!” Stevie pushes herself off the car door and looks back down at her phone. “You and David can take it to The Elms. I have to go back to the office, I’ve already missed too much time babysitting David. I’ll get an Uber.” Before David can do much more than gasp indignantly, she’s turned to walk down to the corner, leaving them (and George, sitting in the driver’s seat reading the paper) to their own devices.

“Let me just…” Patrick says, gesturing up to the house where he’s left the door standing open even though it’s two degrees. David waves a hand at him and gets back in the car. Patrick jogs back up the front walk and grabs his jacket and keys, leaves a note for Ray on the fridge, and heads back out. On the way to The Elms, David ignores him in favor of his phone, so he happily talks to George about last night’s Leafs game. 

When they get to The Elms, Patrick and George carry the painting in between them, while David trails behind Patrick to the elevator. Patrick shakes George’s hand and David dismisses him.

“You know this means you’re going to have to help me carry it when we get up there, right?” Patrick says as the elevator doors close.

“I can carry things, Patrick, I’m not fragile or lazy, I’m just rich,” David responds tartly. 

“Sorry, I stand corrected,” Patrick says, amused to hear David standing up for himself instead of someone else for what might be the first time in their acquaintance. On 26, David does indeed help carry, proving that he’s actually stronger than Patrick had assumed, although there is a bit of maneuvering to get the box through Alexis’s door, and they almost get awkwardly stuck halfway.

“It should go on the window wall,” David instructs, pulling a small pry bar out of some part of his clothing to open the box and pointedly ignoring the fact that Patrick has lain down on the floor to better lavish Poutine with attention. David lifts the cover off the box and Patrick stands to look into it and can’t help but gasp. It’s hundreds, maybe a thousand, tiny boxes wrapped in different blue papers, arranged like some sort of geode crystal. He doesn’t realize he’s reaching out until David grabs his wrist to keep him from running his hand across the soft but jagged surface.

“Not without gloves, please,” David says quietly. 

“It’s—David, this is amazing. I have honestly never seen anything like this! This is from your gallery?”

“It’s one of Kwang Young Chung’s _[Aggregations](https://d1lfxha3ugu3d4.cloudfront.net/assets/system-images/made/assets/system-images/remote/https_d1lfxha3ugu3d4.cloudfront.net/exhibitions/images/2018_Kwang_Young_Chun_Aggregation17_NV089_185cmx162cm_3898w_600_702.jpg)_. He’s Korean. Most of his work is in larger museums, but I purchased a few when I was in Korea and Japan last fall. I thought you’d like all the blue.” David smirks a bit, and Patrick can hear the tease in his voice, which draws his eyes away from the piece. Of course David has noticed that the only clothes Patrick has in Toronto are blue. 

Patrick smiles sheepishly. “When you grew up wearing school uniforms, then worked in the corporate world, and now wear a uniform for work, it just seems easier to stick with one when I’m not at work, too. But I do like the blue. I love it. I can’t believe something like this exists and I had no idea.” He beams up at David and actually gets a glimpse of a smile that’s not screwed up into the corner of his mouth. He feels vindicated to see that David does have the suspected dimple, and it’s amazing, and Patrick did that, just by liking this perfect, extraordinary piece of art. 

Poutine jumps up on the kitchen island to see what all the fuss is about and Patrick startles, which is the only thing that makes him realize that David is still holding his wrist. David drops his hand immediately and Patrick scoops up the cat and sets her back down on the floor. 

“So, uh, over there?” Patrick points, but David just nods and doesn’t look in the direction of Patrick’s finger.

“Between the windows should be fine. Wash your hands, and then I have hardware in the box to mount it.”

They manage to get it on the wall with Patrick handling the hardware and David guarding the piece from curious cats. When it comes to actually hanging it, David does help, but then immediately retreats again to the kitchen island. Patrick steps back to see it in place, but is drawn back to the window when he realizes what direction he’s looking.

“Hey, David, look, you can see the Hard Times!”

“What is that, some rough trade gay bar?” David asks, still standing 20 feet behind him. 

“No, although, I guess the name is sort of…. It’s a restaurant and bar. I’ve wanted to go there since I moved to the city. They are famous for the talent they get at their open mic nights.” He turns to find David watching him from the kitchen. “Aren’t you going to come look? I didn’t realize you could see it from here.”

“I am not particularly a fan of heights, actually,” David says, tossing his head haughtily.

“Really? I have to say, I’m a little shocked you decided to live on the 28th floor in a condo with an entire wall of windows if you’re fearful of heights.”

“Well, ‘fearful’ makes me sound like some Dickensian orphan with a chronic illness. It’s more of an aversion. And I like the light I get, I just don’t feel the need to stand directly next to the fragile glass and look down the 300 feet to the scrubby park or ‘open mic night’ patrons below.” Patrick crosses his arms and leans back against the floor-to-ceiling window behind him and tries not to smirk too obviously as David’s hand actually flies up involuntarily as if to reach for him and pull him back to safety.

“The park looks nice. Not scrubby at all, but I guess you wouldn’t know if you don’t ever walk in it or look down at it from up here. Actually, I think I’ll walk through it on my way to dinner at the Hard Times. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the Monday after Christmas Tom Waits or someone will be taking an open mic night slot.”

“Hmmm, or maybe you’ll get _really_ lucky and it will be Carly Rae Jepsen,” David says, and breathes an audible sigh of relief as Patrick pushes off the window and comes back over to him.

“Well, thank you, David, this might be the most amazing present I’ve ever gotten,” Patrick says sincerely, turning back to look at the piece with the night sky behind it. 

“It’s not actually from me, it’s from my parents,” David reminds him, but he has the pleased, unguarded smile back on his face. Patrick dumps some food in Poutine’s bowl and then pats his pockets, getting ready to leave David to his evening and head for dinner.

“Oh,” he says, feeling his coat pockets and pants pockets one more time with disappointment. “Um, well, if you were thinking of getting me something, a ride home would be great. I don’t seem to have my wallet. I must have left it at Ray’s when you showed up.” He shakes his head, annoyed with himself.

“I could just buy you dinner, you don’t have to go all the way home and miss your open mic night,” David suggests casually.

“You don’t have to do that, David. I can buy my own dinner. You probably don’t want to go out again when you’re already home, and you didn’t sound exactly excited by the idea of dinner at the Hard Times.” 

David is already shaking his head before Patrick finishes his sentence. “Did I not just say I might be eating dinner while watching a private CRJ performance? If that’s a possibility on the table I’d be dumb to pass it up. And we can walk through the park you seem so into on the way.” He turns and leads Patrick to the door, allowing no room for argument.

“Okay, if you’re sure. But I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” Patrick says, wary of David’s charity.

“Oh, no, absolutely not. This is my engagement present, it would be rude and just not at all the done thing to try to pay me back,” David tosses over his shoulder in his most upper-crust voice, and Patrick smiles at his back as he locks Alexis’s door.

The walk through the park on the way there is beautiful, although David spends the whole time listing gay clubs he’s known with names that are less silly than “the Hard Times,” and by the time they arrive to find that the Hard Times is closed for the week, Patrick’s face and abs hurt from laughing so hard at all the ridiculous dick jokes and puns. He just shrugs at the sign on the door and starts serenading David, who attempts to shush him, with Bob Dylan’s “[Hard Times](https://open.spotify.com/track/2t2XbxRZ2Oqh2Z6rTMvhAO?si=BDBmDYNlQ12oZKVvBGZ_6g)” and leads them to a place down the block that sells pizza by the slice. 

Full of pizza and still wheezing with laughter over Patrick’s increasingly ridiculous attempts to mimic Bob Dylan’s voice, David finally shoves him almost into a pond on their way back through the park, and they both try to calm down.

“Okay, okay, think of something sad, come on,” Patrick gasps, wiping his eyes and shaking out his now slightly wet shoe. As soon as he says it David meets his eyes and sobers.

“I didn’t visit Alexis today,” he says, and Patrick has to agree, that is definitely something sad. 

“I didn’t either. I had to help Ray with some things and run some errands. Do you think your parents went?” 

“Probably. Stevie might have, too. I just don’t know if it really matters. What do you do, when you visit her? Stevie said you sometimes go in the night.” David looks sad, and scared, and Patrick hates that he can’t actually be the source of comfort David’s looking for. He’s just a guy, lying to him about caring about his sister. He tries to be comforting anyway.

“I just talk. I say whatever comes to mind. Sometimes I read to her, or, I did that once, anyway. She probably would have hated it if she had been awake, it was a book about baseball. I talked about my old life, a bit.”

“The old, boring life, with an old, boring girlfriend you ran away from to come date my absolutely not boring and totally wild sister?” David asks, and there’s a teasing tone to his voice, but he also sounds like he genuinely wants to know. 

“Basically,” Patrick agrees. “I just—in Pine Ridge, where I grew up, there’s just not a lot of variety. My neighbors, Lori and Monique, the ones I keep mentioning? They were the only gay couple in town that I knew of, and there was basically nobody that wasn’t white, and almost everyone I went to high school with is still there. It wasn’t a bad life, but sometimes I wish I had more variety or adventure. Maybe not as much as Alexis seems to have had.” He smiles at David, but David doesn’t look like he thinks it’s a funny joke, and it wasn’t really. Patrick remembers the sick feeling he got when Alexis told the story about her tattoo, and he wonders how much of her life David really knows the details of. He decides to give David more details about himself instead of dwelling on Alexis.

“That whole life, Rachel, my job, my house, being able to help my dad with their house, all of it. It made me feel… safe, I guess. Secure. Stable… like, I knew what the plan was, what the expectations were, how to…” he laughs a little. It sounds so stupid saying it like this, but David is just listening, no derision on his face. “I knew how to get a good grade, was what I was about to say, and I feel like that sums it up. I was very comfortably following the assignment rubric.” He shakes his head. “But then, I didn’t sleep well. Rachel kept waking up to find me in the living room trying to level the bookshelves, or, like, oiling hinges.” He slows to a stop, and looks out at another little pond past the railing-lined path they’re wandering. 

David waits for him to continue, but finally, softly, jokes, “It’s good to know we’ll have a handyman in the family, I guess.”

Patrick smiles, but he keeps his eyes on the view for the next part. “I thought I was fine. Just some pre-wedding jitters. I had been kind of anxious before we bought the house, too. I thought I was just a ‘nervous before big events’ kind of guy. But the day we had to put down a non-refundable deposit on the venue, I had a panic attack in the bathroom at work.”

“Hmm. I’m pretty sure panic attacks aren’t real? Like, they’re just a PR spin for celebrity publicists. Trust me, I’ve known… a lot of celebrities,” David says.

“They are absolutely real, David. I thought I was dying. I had to call Rachel to drive me home, and while I was waiting, I realized I just couldn’t do it. When I got in the car, I told her I didn’t think I could go through with the wedding.” He shakes his head again, gripping the railing in front of him. “She was so mad. She thought I was just getting cold feet, and we’d take a break and then I’d fall back into our life as usual. She rolled her eyes when I said I was coming here. I just… I didn’t know what was wrong, but I knew that life didn’t actually make me feel safe or comfortable. I felt like I couldn’t breathe that whole week until I made it to where I could see the CN Tower.”

“Sometimes,” David says, and he’s also looking out at the view when Patrick looks over, “I feel like I can’t breathe when I _can_ see the CN Tower. I try to stay here, more than Alexis, anyway. I go to New York for a month sometimes, but I always feel like I have to be close, in case Alexis gets in trouble wherever she’s partying or my mom has another ‘episode,’ which is what she likes to call her complete and total meltdowns.” He grips the railing too, and Patrick has an intense urge to reach out and touch his hand. “I like my work, the galleries, and I’m good at it, I think, but sometimes I think about pulling a Patrick and blowing up my life just so I can do what I maybe really want.”

Patrick says, “Hey!” and nudges David’s shoulder, but he can’t really be offended. That’s exactly what he did, and for what? To sit in the dark and watch bits of other people’s lives while he tries to figure out his own. “What do you ‘maybe really’ want to do?” he asks, not sure if David will have an answer ready. 

“Something smaller,” David says immediately, and then flushes, like he’s embarrassed to admit it. He glances over at Patrick’s face, though, and whatever he sees, he keeps going. “It’s just, the galleries, here and in New York, are great, but they take so much...schmoozing, my dad would say. With… kind of terrible people. I mean, I’m a kind of terrible person, so I fit right in, but I’d like to do less of that. And curate things I really care about, instead of what is trending or high profile.”

“Another gallery, though?” Patrick asks. 

David starts them walking again. “I think… a store, maybe. With a small rotating selection of like, grooming products and maybe home decor? Sort of like a general store, but also a very specific store?”

Patrick chuckles. David immediately bristles, so Patrick rushes to reassure him. “It’s a great idea, David, especially if you do it in a neighborhood with a lot of foot traffic. Or actually, a smaller Ontario town like mine, maybe.” He takes a moment to envision it. Something that reflects David, with a neutral color palette, but welcoming. “It’s actually a _really_ good idea, David, if you could involve the community, maybe, and really embrace the ‘shop local’ spirit.” He sighs, imagining it, and David looks over and raises his dark eyebrows. “Before I left my job, that’s the kind of thing I used to think about doing. Getting in early on a project, navigating the set up of a business. You’ll think this is stupid and very uncool, probably, but I love the challenge of making bureaucracy work. Like, grant forms, bylaws…” he trails off, blushing, as David laughs quietly. “It’s the kind of thing I loved to do in school, tackling a project and solving the puzzle of putting the best business you could together.”

David is still smiling at him warmly, almost like he forgot to do his usual twisting half-smile tonight. “Sounds like, if I ever pull a Patrick, I’ll need your help. The business part of my galleries isn’t really my strength. Mostly it either just comes together or it doesn’t.” He shrugs. 

“David, I hate to break it to you, but that isn’t really how business works. Does it ever ‘just come together’?”

“I mean, maybe? I don’t really pay attention to the finance side as much. My parents are silent partners, and I assume they’re handling it. That’s kind of why I haven’t given it up already, I’m not sure they’d be okay with me doing something else.” Patrick wants to shake his head in despair at how casual David is about the financial details, but at least this is a way he can be helpful.

“Listen,” he says, as they wander slowly up the street to The Elms. “When this week is over, or when Alexis wakes up, whichever comes first, I will put in some time looking over your books for you. Even if you decide to tell your parents you want to close the galleries, it will be easier to do it if you actually know how well they’re doing.”

“Okay. Thanks, I guess. I’ll get the doorman to call you a car,” David says. “Goodnight, Patrick.”

“Goodnight, David,” Patrick says, smiling at him. It feels strange, lingering on this doorstep, like the end of a date. “Oh,” he says, chancing it and opening his arms for a hug, “and thanks for my engagement present pizza.” Future brothers-in-law probably hug, right? David smiles warmly at him and steps into his arms, and Patrick realizes his mistake. It’s a cold night, but David’s body is warm, pressed into him, and his face is tucked in the sculptural collar of David’s coat, and he can smell his cologne, and their faces are touching, and Patrick had done the usual manly pat on the back but David is smoothing his broad hands up and down Patrick’s, and Patrick is in trouble. He pulls back, but he doesn’t really want to let go. David smiles, that unbelievable twisted smile this time, lets go of him, and steps into the lobby. As the door swings closed, Patrick catches his own reflection in it and is thoroughly embarrassed by the stupid look on his own face. 

***

Over breakfast the next day, Patrick stares at the sunflower made of strawberries that Ray has placed on his oatmeal until he just can’t take it anymore.

“I feel like l’m having an affair,” he blurts. “I think I like David.” Ray’s pleasant expression doesn’t change, like maybe he’s not understanding the problem here. “Ray, I think I… _like him_ like him!”

“So?” Ray asks.

“So? First of all, I didn’t even know I could like like guys and I wouldn’t know what to even do, _and_ he thinks I’m engaged! To Alexis!”

“Patrick, I am not sure what you want me to say. Do you want to talk about how you feel about possibly being queer, or about the Rose family situation, specifically?”

“I just don’t know what to do, about any of it.” Patrick puts his head in his hands and sighs.

“It sounds like you want to tell the truth about not being Alexis’s fiancé, because then you might be able to explore these new feelings with David,” Ray says, entirely too calmly.

“But if l tell David that l lied to his family, he will never speak to me again! And he would be right not to! And they’d all hate me, Mr. and Mrs. Rose, and Stevie!” 

Ray cocks his head. “Stevie? Who is Stevie?”

“She’s Mr. Rose’s assistant. But you know what? Actually, she knows. Not about the David thing, but about the not-being-Alexis’s-fiancé thing. But seriously, Ray, how did I get into this mess? What should I do?” He looks pleadingly at Ray over the table. Ray reaches out to pat his arm sympathetically.

“I think the most important thing, Patrick, is for you to sort out what you, yourself, truly want out of this situation. When I have to do my deepest thinking, I like to go to Union Station and peoplewatch, but I seem to remember that you said you like to be out in nature. I don’t have any clients today, so you’re welcome to take my car to find a hiking trail or something.”

Patrick smiles up at him gratefully. A hike, and a bit of time on his own to let himself process this crazy week and sort out what he’s really feeling, sounds like the perfect way to spend the day. He tucks in to his oatmeal, making a mental note to text David that he might be in and out of service, but that he’d check in at the end of the day in case there’s news. 

***

When Patrick slips past the night nurse with a wave and a smile, she gives him a significant eyebrow raise in return, and indicates Alexis’s room with her head. When he looks over, he realizes he can see David’s broad back where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He whispers “thanks” to the nurse and steps quietly closer, not wanting to disturb David. When he gets just outside the doorway, he realizes David is talking to Alexis, despite his earlier scorn. 

“Do you remember, when we were kids, and Adelina would leave for the night? She always said, ‘take care of your _hermanita_, Mr. David’ on her way out. I don’t know if she knew how it made me feel, to hear it every night, especially once I realized I was the only one who was going to. I don’t know if you even know this, but I’m the one at the consulate sending you temporary passports and colored contacts lenses whenever you needed them. It’s not Mom and Dad. I don’t travel as much as you do, or party as much as you do, because I’m constantly worried which East Asian palace you’ll be held hostage in this week.” He laughs a little, but Patrick doesn’t think he’s exaggerating. He’d always assumed David was just older, or a little uptight, but this makes sense with the man he’s getting to know this week.

“It’s just… it’s nice to know it’s not going to just be me anymore. He seems like he’ll be good at taking care of you. I realize this is a stupid thing to say to someone in a coma, but how do you get to be so lucky?” David shakes his head and purses his lips. Patrick shifts his weight a little, and now he can see what David is actually doing on the bed. He had wondered about Alexis staying so well-groomed this week, but he really shouldn’t have. David is carefully, gently wiping off her makeup and clearly getting set up to reapply everything. It’s 3am, but he isn’t at a nightclub or an orgy or an exclusive art installation, or whatever David normally does at night. He’s sitting on his sister’s bed and smoothing a cotton pad gently over her delicate eyelids. Patrick feels his eyes water, ridiculously. For all of David’s bluster and carefully constructed prickly demeanor, he’s such a good person. Before this week, Patrick assumed David and Alexis didn’t really even like each other, let alone love each other, but clearly he was just fooled by the smoke and mirrors David is always arranging to protect himself from the kind of people who did this to Alexis in the first place. 

“It’s just, when you started talking about a nice guy, I thought you were crazy. But he’s so… good. He’s nice to Mom even when she’s being her worst, and he lets Dad hug him and call him ‘son,’ and he got me my stupid coffee order like, an hour after we met. He’s funny, and responsible, and… he’s going to be really good for you, Alexis. He’s going to be so good _to_ you. It’s just not really fair you saw him first, I guess. Baby princess Alexis, always getting the best toys. You should wake up and dump him so he can come cry on my shoulder,” he jokes, and starts her makeup.

Patrick watches and thinks about what he decided on his hike. He’s not really sure what liking David means for his sexuality. He might be bisexual, maybe, or maybe he’s actually gay and that’s why liking David, talking to David, touching David feels so different from the beginnings of his other relationships. All he knows for sure is that he does like David, and he can’t do anything about it. It’s a scary and exciting thing, having his first real crush on a man, and he thinks he’s happy to leave it at that. Ray was right, he sort of does want to come clean and see where things go with David, but there’s just no way that’s going to happen. Maybe if Stevie figures out a way to tell him, but Patrick is just going to leave it alone and see what happens. Maybe Alexis will wake up tomorrow and magically fix this mess Patrick’s got himself into, but even if she doesn’t, he’s going to keep being the best friend he can be to David and try to enjoy these new, fluttery, tingly feelings without worrying about it all too much.

He decides to leave David to his task and slips back out. He’ll come by tomorrow morning when David is asleep and take a turn. Maybe Alexis will want to hear about how the hockey season is going.

***

On the island in 26C, Alexis’s phone lights up with a notification: “17 missed calls.”

“...and I will _so_ totally get back to you later!!”

“Lex, listen, I know you said no, but I think I know why, and you don’t have to be scared of this. I know we’re different, and our lives are different, but I love you. That’s not going to change, so take as long as you need. I’ll be here when you decide whether you want to be with me. Ma’am, please keep your eyes on the road! Sorry, babe, I’m driving. But I miss you. I hope you had a merry Christmas. I’m bringing back some of my mom’s cookies for you. And I really love you. Sorry, I know you said not to say it so much, but Christmas has me feeling extra _Santa_-mental, I guess. Call me, Alexis, and please don’t forget to feed Poutine. Bye.”

***

Wednesday and Thursday he manages to miss David every time he goes to the hospital, but he sees Mr. Rose once and Stevie twice. He misses David when he’s not at the hospital as well, and lets himself lean into the weird, painful, pleasing ache he feels a little stupid about, since he’s only really known David for not even a week. Friday morning there is a small black box on the doorstep when he goes out for the last run of the year. Curious, he opens it and discovers an invitation to a New Year’s Eve party at The Rose Gallery. 

He thinks about the party during his entire run, distracted enough he misses a turn, and for the whole rest of the day. He decides on a dark button-down and dark jeans, hoping David will forgive him if he looks totally out of place. He and Ray share a cab, and Ray lets him out at the gallery with a cheerful “happy new year and good luck!”

Patrick checks his coat with a bored-looking girl and looks around for his host, but the gallery is dark, full of people, and sort of confusingly laid out. He turns one corner and finds a bar, at which he has to wait for an absurdly long time before being told no beer is being served. He decides on scotch instead, and the taste of it has him looking around for David again. Before he can explore more of the space, there’s a woman touching his arm and laughing, asking him what a businessman like him is doing here, and she’s beautiful, but all he wants is David. He politely excuses himself.

Towards the back of the space he bumps into someone, and when he looks up it’s a gorgeous, slightly scruffy man, smirking down at him. 

“Hi, handsome, I’m Tommy,” the man says, and Patrick almost looks behind him before it sinks in that Tommy is calling _Patrick_ handsome. Tommy thinks Patrick is queer and handsome and worth flirting with at a dark party, and Patrick could… flirt back. Nobody but David knows him here, if David even is here. No one knows he only decided three days ago that he isn’t straight. He could try this out, see if it’s just David or, as he’s started to suspect, also men other than David. He smirks back.

“Hi, Tommy, I’m handsome. But my name’s actually Patrick,” he says, relying on the scotch to keep him from internally cringing at that stupid line. Tommy throws his head back and laughs, and Patrick is staring at his scruffy beard and his Adam’s apple and thinking _yeah, actually, more of this, please_. They end up talking, flirting, making each other laugh against a wall next to a neon sign that says “FORCEFULLY MIGHTILY MUSCULARLY STRENUOUSLY”. Tommy looms over him a bit, but it’s exciting to feel boxed in and like Tommy’s body is shutting out the rest of the room, letting everyone see that Patrick is the sole focus of a man’s attention.

He’s smirking up at Tommy again, watching Tommy lick his lips, and letting him sway into Patrick’s personal space a bit, when a hand closes, vicelike, around his elbow. Patrick jerks, startled, and realizes it’s David, somehow choosing this moment to appear at his own party, now that Patrick’s stopped looking for him.

“Can I speak to you privately?” David grates out, and then tugs Patrick away without waiting for an answer. When he’s dragged Patrick behind the closed door of David’s office, barking “out!” to a couple making out in the desk chair, he finally drops Patrick’s arm.

“What the hell are you doing, David?” Patrick asks.

“What the hell am _I_ doing?! Have you conveniently forgotten you’re _engaged_ to be _married_ to my _sister_?! And _don’t _try to tell me you have an open relationship, because Alexis might agree to that but there’s no way you would.” David paces up and down the room in front of him, and Patrick feels the heat of shame licking up his neck. He had, actually, for a minute there, forgotten he was supposed to be engaged to David’s sister, and not just when he was talking to Tommy. It just doesn’t seem to be a fact he can keep in his head, lately. 

__

“I was just talking to him, David. I was talking to another guest at your party, while I was looking for you, since you invited me.”

__

“You weren’t ‘just talking,’ I _saw_ you. He was… _leaning_.” David makes some sort of hand gesture.

__

“He was ‘leaning’?! Is that some cool big city queer slang I don’t know? I’m not allowed to talk to a man next to a wall?” Patrick crosses his arms defensively. He hopes David doesn’t notice that he’s feeling guiltier than he should be because David is right.

__

“Leaning is just… leaning! It’s not talking, leaning is... whole bodies moving in, like this.” David boxes Patrick against the door to demonstrate, and this is so much worse than David just mad at him, because David demonstrating flirting means he has to smell David, and see his mouth up close. “Leaning involves wanting... and accepting,” David is saying, getting closer and closer. Alarm bells are going off in Patrick’s head, and his scotch is sweating in his hand against his shirt, and seriously, how is it possible that David smells this good?

__

The door opens at Patrick’s back and he nearly falls backwards into the hallway, but he manages to recover, though as he flails his scotch splashes all down the front of David’s sweater.

__

“Fuck!” David shouts, but Patrick’s already heading down the hallway. He’d really rather not have any of the various conversations he could be having with David at this moment, about who he really is, what he really wants from David, why David should just let him flirt with a cute guy at David’s stupid pretentious gallery and leave him alone, any of it. 

__

David catches up and catches his arm again. “Look, I’m sorry, I get that I’m… damaged goods, and trusting people is not a thing I know how to do. But you have to admit, you and Alexis? You don’t actually make sense. You’re not exactly her type. She likes… pop starlets and shipping magnates and the sons or wives of dictators, not…” David lets go of Patrick’s arm to wave his hand up and down to encompass whatever it is he sees when he looks at Patrick. For a second there, Patrick had been deluded enough to think whatever he sees might be something David might want.

__

“Yeah, David? I’m not Alexis’s type? Then whose type am I? Am I so completely outside of the world of your family someone like you could never be interested in someone like me?”

__

“It’s not that, it’s just—You have to see it, she’s… an international diplomatic incident, half the time, and you look like you just… sit behind a desk all day!”

__

“Well, you’re not wrong, David, I don’t work with animals. I am sitting behind a desk all day, watching other people’s lives, and do you know what I see from behind that desk? You. I see you, too worried about what your sister is up to and who you can sleep with to actually do the thing you told me you want to do in life.” He can feel himself overreacting, and losing the point of this conversation, but he can’t seem to stop. David could have anything he wants, why does he have to keep Patrick from figuring out what Patrick wants? “Have you talked to your parents about closing the galleries? Because you’ve had almost a week to do it. New year, new you, right, David?” David looks stung for a second, but then seems to slip his worst “about to be rude to the staff” face on like a mask.

__

“What the fuck do you know about my life, or me, new or old? Just because Alexis is in a _coma_ and can’t wake up to see how _boring_ and _uptight _you are—”

__

“You know what, David?” Patrick cuts him off and dumps his glass down on what may be a counter or a piece of “art.” “I’ve had a pretty difficult Christmas thanks to your family, and you’ve just managed to ruin my New Year’s. If you come find me on Easter you can ruin that too, but I’m getting out of here.” 

__

He turns his back on David before David can say anything else and strides out of the gallery past people of all descriptions shouting the countdown. When he gets out to the street and realizes it’s freezing and he’s going to have to walk all the way home because there’s no way even public transportation won’t be a New Year’s nightmare, he deflates. _Happy new year, idiot_, he thinks, and shoves his hands deep in his coat pockets to start the long walk home.

__

***

__

“Mr. Rose, what’s happened? I just got a call saying to come down here but they wouldn’t tell me anything else!” Patrick says as he jogs down the hall towards Mr. Rose. His mind has been racing since he got the call. At least it had taken his mind off whatever was going on with David, although whatever the news is may just complicate things further.

__

“She’s awake! She woke up! Come on!” Mr. Rose looks so happy. Patrick tries to school his expression so that Mr. Rose can’t see that Patrick’s stomach has sunk to his shoes. He lets Mr. Rose grab his arm and lead him down the hall in a bit of a daze. 

__

They all crowd around the bed. Katie, the nurse on duty, wakes her gently. Alexis opens her eyes and Mrs. Rose, who had just instructed them to give Alexis their “most winning smiles,” noisily bursts into tears. Alexis rolls her eyes and says “Moooooommmmm, pleeeeaasssssee,” which makes them all laugh. She smiles at each of them in turn, and she doesn’t look confused at all to see Patrick standing next to David. She just smiles warmly at him, and waves a bit at them all. Patrick lets the breath he had been holding out with a whoosh, which David must hear, because despite how they left things last night, he puts a comforting hand on Patrick’s shoulder. Alexis smiles even more warmly at that, and Patrick gasps a little. It must look like he’s with David to her. 

__

David squeezes his shoulder a bit and then says, loudly over his mother’s sobs, “Dad, Mom, let’s let Patrick and Alexis have a minute, okay?”

__

“Oh, no, it’s fine—” Patrick starts, but David is already ushering his parents out, and then he is alone with her. She pats the bed next to her hip and smiles in a beckoning way, jerking her head back a bit and closing her eyes in a sort of wink, a display that would have made him concerned about lingering head trauma if he hadn’t seen her do it in the lobby many times.

__

“Sit your cute little butt right down, Patrick. I assume your name is actually Patrick? And maybe you aren’t David’s boyfriend, if he thinks we should have some alone time?”

__

Patrick sits, but he doesn’t know how to start. She waits not even fifteen seconds before she prompts him. “Okay, like, no offense, or anything, but, um, who are you? Because I know I party but I am pretty sure I have only been out of it for a week, they told me, and I think I would remember a little button-face like you.” She taps his nose, and he gasps out a sort of watery, panicky laugh.

__

“Okay, I’m sorry, I really am, but there was this whole misunderstanding, and I didn't know how to fix it! I’m not David’s boyfriend, I’m not anyone, my name is Patrick Brewer and I’m your night doorman at The Elms, but when I brought you in they assumed I was your fiancé, and your parents and your brother were so upset I didn’t think I could upset them further by correcting them, and then it all just got out of control.” He pants a bit at the end of that speech. She pats his cheek, still smiling.

__

“That’s so cute and, like, nice of you? I can’t believe you’ve had to pretend to be engaged to me this whole week! I wish I was awake for that, I bet David was _so_ jealous I had such a cute nice boyfriend!” Her face falls a little bit, but then she perks back up so immediately Patrick thinks he must have imagined it.

__

“What do you want to do, do you want to still be my fiancé for a while? I can keep the secret, I’m a _pretty_ good actress, and it will be kind of funny to keep messing with David.” Patrick winces a bit at that, and her eyes narrow. “You don’t _want_ to mess with David?”

__

“Well…” he hesitates.

__

She gasps. “You _like_ David!” He blushes instantly, and he knows it’s obvious because he can feel his ears burning. “You like David, Patrick likes David!” she sing-songs. 

__

He can’t help but laugh at her delight at the secret. She glances towards the door and then takes his hot face in her hands and pulls him down into a kiss. He has to brace against the bed to keep from falling onto her. It’s a pretty good kiss, as far as kisses go, but all he can think about is “messing with David.” Is David watching right now? When Alexis ends the kiss she keeps his face close.

__

“It will be our little secret, Patrick, but you let me know if you decide to go for it with David. He... he kind of deserves a nice boyfriend,” she whispers.

__

“Um, I don’t think… I don’t think he wants me,” he whispers back, but she just rolls her eyes at him. 

__

“Okay, we’re done, you can uncover your eyes, David! And Mom and Dad can come back!” she yells, releasing Patrick’s face finally and aiming one of her inexpert winks at him. 

__

When they all do file back into the room, Stevie’s joined them as well. She looks between Alexis and Patrick, still sitting on the bed, and narrows her eyes. There’s some silent, meaningful communication Patrick can see happening but not at all interpret between Stevie and Alexis, and then Alexis bounces a little and claps her hands.

__

“Family, I have an announcement!” she says, beaming around at all of them. “It seems the surprise was ruined by my little accident, but Patrick and I are engaged!” 

__

Mr. Rose claps, and Mrs. Rose says, “Yes, dear, did we need the ceremony?” Patrick sneaks a look at David, but he’s back against the wall opposite the bed with his arms crossed like he was the first night.

__

“Yes, I _know_ you know, Patrick _told_ me, but we didn’t get to _celebrate_,” Alexis answers, annoyed. “And you’re ruining this! Patrick,” she turns to him and takes his hands. “I know, in the past, I haven’t always appreciated you in my life. Sometimes it’s like I didn’t even know you were there, but I’ve recently come to appreciate just how great it can be to have someone truly good and nice care about you.” She pauses and her face transforms into a real, wistful, heartbreaking expression again for just a moment before the happy engagement expression returns. “Thanks to you, I’ve been given a second chance at life, and even though it took a coma to wake me up, I am going to make some changes now that I know what I really want. My family loves you, and I might as well love you. You got to ask last time, so Patrick Brewer, will you marry me?”  
Patrick is a bit too stunned by this performance to answer, but she squeezes his hands and raises her perfectly groomed eyebrows, so he shakes himself out of it.

__

“Yes?” he says, and then Stevie is clapping, getting Mr. and Mrs. Rose to clap, and Alexis pulls him in to kiss him again.

__

“We might as well get an engagement party out of this, and presents!” she whispers in his ear.  
She releases him again and then pushes him until he stands. “Now, I need to start engagement party planning, so please, everyone including the groom get out. David, we need to talk guest list!” She shoos them away and makes grabby hands at David, still as far back against the wall as possible. He rolls his eyes, but goes to sit down on the bed.

__

Patrick and Stevie linger outside the door of Alexis’s room after Patrick explains to Mr. Rose how to get to the good coffee.

__

“What is the point of all this, Stevie? Alexis knows, and she’s just making the lie worse!” Patrick whispers, keeping an eye on David’s back through the doorway. 

__

“Alexis is an excellent schemer and she knows David better than anyone, Patrick. This way, we get to sound out how much he likes you back.” 

__

“Back?!” Patrick whispers, shocked. Stevie rolls her eyes at him.

__

“I’ve been watching you two all week, and I’ve never seen any two idiots fall for each other faster. You don’t get it because you don’t know him that well and you don’t see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking.”

__

Patrick almost feels sick, with the intensity of the hope and confusion swirling inside him. In all of this, he never thought David could actually like him _back_ right now. Maybe, someday, if Patrick could get himself out of this without ruining everything, he had hoped David might eventually like him back, a little. But already? Now? 

__

“Listen,” Stevie whispers, poking him.

__

They’ve only been able to hear quiet murmurs from the bed before, but Alexis has raised her voice, and David’s automatically raised his to match.

__

“Patrick is pretty adorable, isn’t he?” Alexis says, preening.

__

“Oh. Yeah, I guess,” David allows.

__

“I can’t believe we’re engaged. Can you believe we’re engaged?”

__

“I mean, I was literally standing right there when you _just_ proposed, and I assume he did some cloyingly romantic thing like getting down on one knee under the stars in a park or something before all this, so yes, I can believe you are engaged.” Patrick smiles a bit at that. David’s not wrong about what he might have chosen. He does like to stick to the classics.

__

“Everything is better. Everything looks better. Even your Givenchy feels better," Alexis muses, petting David’s sleeve. 

__

"It's Rick Owens! Are they sure you don't have brain damage?” 

__

“Whatever. I'm reborn into the world like a butterfly, David. I'm making a clean start with Patrick. He's—What is he? He’s definitely something so cute, but I’m not really sure how to….” As she trails off, she makes eye contact with Patrick over David’s shoulder and winks again. David immediately fills the silence.

__

“Patrick is—I'd say that he's either impatient or very sure of himself. He made a bestiality joke within five minutes of meeting me! He just gets under your skin and doesn't stop with the teasing and smirking. He just drives you insane with his completely incorrect clothes and choices. The thing he was _most_ excited about after moving to the fourth largest city in North America was going to a grungy restaurant to listen to an open mic night, where literally anyone can perform and they don't even have a talent screener! I don't know if that makes him truly terrible or just....” He trails off. 

__

_Just what?!_ Patrick thinks, as Stevie smacks his arm. 

__

Alexis is smirking at David, pleased she got him to say even that much. “No, that's not it. But he's definitely an adorable little butter bean and I get to spend the rest of my life finding out more!” 

__

As David makes a truly hilarious noise of frustration and throws up his hands, Stevie pulls Patrick away from the door to talk more freely.

__

“Do you see?” she asks.

__

“I mean, basically what he just said is he thinks I’m uncool and annoying, Stevie.” She rolls her eyes at him, but he continues. “And even if it turns out you’re right, and he does like me a little bit or whatever, he’s still going to _hate_ me when he finds out this whole thing was a lie!”

__

Stevie pats his arm. “You leave that to me. I’ll tell him before your engagement party, and then you can confess your big gay crush with a clear conscience and just see what happens.” It’s Patrick’s turn to roll his eyes as she makes kissy noises and sketches a heart with her hands.

__

It’s too much to hope for, that all of this could turn out well. He’s just going to stick to hoping that they all get out of this without anyone hating him. 

__

***

__

It’s decided that the party will be at The Elms in two days, which seems ridiculously fast to Patrick, but he’s grateful because he just wants it all over with. None of the Roses seem at all interested in his help even though he’s supposed to be the groom, so he spends January 2nd and 3rd reading and running and looking over Ray’s books and trying to ignore the growing sense of dread that David will never speak to him again after Tuesday. He gets emotional whiplash from drifting between daydreams of everything working out and opening a little general store with David, somewhere small but accepting, and watching baseball games with David curled up against him reading, or following David around New York and watching the city lights paint his handsome face, and the horrible potential of losing all of the Roses in one fell swoop. Even Stevie, who did jokingly promise not to abandon him, because how could she choose a friendship with Patrick over her friendship with David? It all makes him feel like an overly emotional teenager and makes him ache to call his mom, but he wouldn’t even know where to start to explain it all. Even in the dream world in which everything goes right and he and David live happily ever after, he can’t quite bring himself to imagine explaining to his parents that he’s actually gay, and he did love Rachel but that’s not who he is, because what if they’re disappointed?

__

He’s interrupted in another spiral in which he’s been beating himself up for thinking his lovely parents might not accept him _and_ beating himself up for not realizing he liked men sooner by the doorbell ringing late Monday night. Ray glances out the kitchen window and calls, “I have something to finish in the basement, will you get that?”

__

Patrick watches him disappear down the steps in confusion. Ray is not very good at boundaries and never passes up the chance to chat up a guest, so Patrick can’t imagine who could be at the door that Ray wouldn’t want to see. He opens it to find David, an Uber driver idling at the curb.

__

“Hi,” Patrick says, and hopes that one word doesn’t reveal how ridiculously happy he is to see David. 

__

“Hi. I just… well, I could say I was in the neighborhood, but who would believe me?” David says, and Patrick chuckles.

__

“I don’t know, David, I heard you work in _art_ and go to places like this all the time.” 

__

David rolls his eyes and smiles a little. “Really, I, um, I just wanted to give you this before all the engagement presents start to pile up.” He holds out a wad of tissue paper from behind his back, and Patrick stands up from leaning against the door jamb to take it. 

__

“David, you didn’t have to, you already bought me engagement pizza, remember?” he asks as he starts to unwrap it.

__

“I know, I was just at the airport because I had to go down to New York for a thing today and I saw it, and....”

__

Patrick unwinds the last bit of tissue paper to find a [tacky tourist snowglobe](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcThl2PhQsTOq0GDo5gl8jlg8IXnlk_34EFteiQrUrb9-2YzcEHP) which really highlights the phallic nature of the CN Tower. He wants to laugh, but when he meets David’s eyes it doesn’t feel very funny.

__

“I thought it might help stave off any other wedding planning panic attacks,” David says, and Patrick wants to kiss him so badly his whole body feels like it’s pulling out of alignment to get closer to David.

__

“Thank you, it’s really… beautiful?” he tries, and they both laugh. David quiets quickly, and meets his eyes again. He has the smallest, fondest smile on his face, one Patrick’s never seen.  
“I also wanted to say… hmm. I just… I wanted to say that I think Alexis is very lucky.” 

__

Patrick can’t really breathe. “Thank you, David,” he whispers. They look at each other for another long moment, and all Patrick can think is _please_.

__

David looks away and twists a smile at the porch railing. “I had to say that because you’re going to be my brother-in-law, so I have to be nice to you,” he says, and Patrick feels his hope start to die.

__

“Ha ha, David. I’m glad to be legally tied to such a nice person, I guess,” he says, going for the joke and hoping he doesn’t sound too disappointed. David just smiles again, still looking down at the railing.

__

With his own eyes on the perfect, stupid snowglobe, Patrick takes a risk. “David?”

__

“Yeah?” David looks up again, and Patrick almost loses his nerve.

__

“Is there something... can you give me any reason why I shouldn’t marry your sister?” Heartbreakingly, Patrick watches David’s face slowly close down again, until he’s looking at the near stranger from the first night in the hospital.

__

“I can’t,” David says quietly, and turns to go.

__

Patrick closes the door and drops the snowglobe on the couch and takes the stairs up to his room two at a time. The urge to call his mom again is back stronger than ever, and he paces around until he is standing in front of his desk, staring at his stupid notebook full of his stupid dreams for a more exciting life.

__

“Patrick,” Ray asks quietly from the doorway, “what happened with David?”

__

“He didn’t want me,” Patrick answers, and tries not to tear up too obviously. It doesn’t matter. Stevie will tell David tomorrow, and eventually they can be friends, and the important thing will be that part, and that knowing David allowed him to figure himself out. He sets his suit out, hanging it over the closet door, and goes to bed, and tries not to think about tomorrow.

__

***

__

The engagement party/welcome home party is in full swing and David and Stevie still aren’t there. Patrick has been towed around the room to all of Alexis’s friends, and he’s really ready for the whole charade to be over. Stevie seemed confident when she gave him his peptalk in the hospital, but now he’s been introduced as “darling button-faced Patrick” to about 50 people and he just wants to see David. He escapes to the bedroom for a bit and pulls Poutine into his lap. He thinks about his neighbors, Lori and Monique. He doesn’t know anything about them, really, other than that they were married in 2003, the first summer it was legal in Ontario, and they named their cats after _The Price of Salt_. When did they meet? How? It couldn’t possibly have been as farcical as the way he met David. How did they know, either that they weren’t straight or that they belonged together? Maybe he’ll take the Family Day long weekend and go home and ask them. Even if today turns out to be a disaster, Patrick knows more about himself, now, and he’d like them to know. Maybe he’ll even feel like he is ready to tell his parents. 

__

He’s interrupted in his musings by Stevie sticking her head into the bedroom and saying, “The groom is missed.” 

__

He jumps up from the bed and submits to her forcefully brushing cat hair off him. “How did he take it? Is it okay? Is he mad?” She keeps brushing until he grabs her hand. “Stevie, what did David say?”

__

“He said… nothing because I didn’t tell him, sorry. I FOUND HIM!” she shouts into the hall, and then drags him out and deposits him next to Alexis.

__

Mr. Rose immediately raises his glass to begin a toast, but Mrs. Rose steps to the center of the room instead. “There once was a radiant young actress, who dreamed of having two sons, the second of which would be named Alex,” she begins.

__

“I don't like this story, Mom!” Alexis whines, squeezing Patrick’s bicep in distress.

__

“Please, Alexis! Now it seems the vivacious Daytime Emmy nominee was surprised by how taken she was with this unanticipated daughter, mostly because she didn't cry as much as the unmannerly son,” and it is David’s turn to say “Mom!” sharply. Mrs. Rose continues, unfazed. “But also because she was adventurous, carefree, so beautiful. And now we have a new addition to the family, brought to us by that unexpected daughter, in an unexpected way. Dearest Pat...rick, who saved my daughter’s life, thank you, all these years later, for finally giving me the second son I always wanted.”

__

Everyone claps, and Patrick tries to smile, but he isn’t sure he’s managing. He’s just watching David, standing as far away from the windows as he can get, and he just can’t wait any longer.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rose,” he says, cutting him off from beginning a toast of his own, “I have to—I just can’t do this anymore.”

__

“Patrick?” Alexis asks, squeezing his arm even harder. 

__

“What’s going on, son?” Mr. Rose says.

__

“I can’t marry your daughter, sir. I’m in love with your son.” A gratifyingly dramatic gasp goes up, but Patrick is just staring at David, who has raised his hands to cover his face.

__

“Oh, David, what did you do?!” Mrs. Rose cries.

__

“No, he didn’t do anything, it was my fault,” Patrick assures her, keeping his eyes on David’s hands. “That day, at the hospital, there was a misunderstanding. I was never engaged to Alexis. I work here, at The Elms. I’m the night doorman. I saw Alexis get pushed out of the car, and I pulled her out of the street, but they weren’t going to let me in the ambulance with her, so I said I was family. One of the nurses heard it from the EMTs and got it confused, and then it was too late to tell you, but it wasn’t true. I was never Alexis’s fiancé.”

__

“Why didn’t you say anything?” David whispers, lowering his hands just enough to peek over the top of them.

__

“Because I didn’t know how to tell you. At the hospital, everything happened so fast, and I couldn’t tell you the truth because I just didn’t want to hurt you, but then, later, I didn’t _want_ to tell you the truth because the truth was that I fell in love with you.”

__

“You fell in love with me?” Mrs. Rose asks.

__

Patrick lets out a watery laugh. “No. Well, yes! All of you. I went from having left all my family behind and being so confused about who I was and what I wanted to being so embraced by your family. Everyone keeps saying I saved your life that night, Alexis, but really, you saved mine. You made me understand how happy my life could actually be. So, I’m sorry, I’ll just go.”  
He crosses the room for the door, giving David a wide berth, but when he reaches it, it opens under his hand, and a blond man is standing in the doorway, looking just as surprised as Patrick feels.

__

“Ted!” Alexis yelps from behind him, and Patrick steps aside to watch as they meet in the middle of the room in an enthusiastic kiss. 

__

“Who is Ted?!” Mr. Rose asks. 

__

Alexis disentangles herself to explain. “Everyone, this is Dr. Ted Mullens, the cutest vet in Toronto, and my actual fiancé!” 

__

“Wait, babe, really?!” Ted asks, delighted. Alexis nods, beaming, and everyone claps again as they kiss. Patrick takes one more look at the room, his gaze still so easily caught by the beautiful Aggregation, and then steps out. As he waits for the elevator, he thinks about asking Ray if he needs help with any of his businesses. He can’t keep working here, seeing David go past his desk every night and knowing how he ruined things. 

__

As the elevator doors close, a familiar ringed hand is thrust between them, and David, panting a bit, slips in.

__

“Is that, what you said in there, is that true?” he asks.

__

Patrick looks at his shoes. “Yes, David, I lied, to all of you. Ted must have been the nice guy who works with animals you remembered.”

__

“Not that thing! The important part,” David says from right in front of him. “Did you mean what you said about me?”

__

Patrick looks up, and David is right there, and his gorgeous expressive mouth is twisting into a smile, and his eyes are full of tears, and he is every single thing Patrick has ever wanted in his life, even when he had no idea he did.

__

“Yes, David, I meant it,” he says, smiling, and then David is kissing him, and it’s like waking up to his wildest dreams. 

__

***

__

Patrick finishes up reading his last grant application essay for the day and rubs at his eyes. He has probably half an hour before Alexis texts him to tell him they’ve finished dinner and he can go pick David up at The Elms. David has graciously, if cautiously, agreed to come to the Hard Times open mic night tonight to hear Patrick play. Between closing the galleries, opening Rose Apothecary, and starting the Rose Family Foundation for Small Business Development, they’ve had a busy year, but David has always made sure that Patrick has time for his music. After long days, he leans against the piano like he did last Christmas, watching Patrick’s hands, or sits on the bench with him, trading kisses for Mariah Carey covers. Patrick’s gotten to see a lot more of David’s own art, and he’s managed to convince David to let him frame some of the sketches he likes the best, although that did lead to a long lecture on appropriate frame choices.

__

Tonight, Patrick’s told David he’s planning to debut an original song at the Hard Times, which he hopes is good enough cover for the fact that he’s been jittery all week, something David has definitely noticed. It’s not the music that’s making him so keyed up, though. It’s the four gold rings burning a hole in his coat pocket, waiting for the moment they end up halfway across the park between The Elms and the Hard Times, when Patrick will get down on one knee, under the stars, in a park, and finally, truly become the fiancé of a Rose sibling.

__

**Author's Note:**

> Patrick reads to Alexis from The Natural by Bernard Malamud.
> 
> [More information](https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/kwang_young_chun) about the art that Patrick receives.


End file.
